Adrienne Rich — Wallpaper

1 A room papered with clippings newsprint in bulging patches none of them mentions our names gone from that history then O red kite snarled in a cloud small plane melted in a fog: no matter: I worked to keep it current and meaningful: a job of living I thought history as wallpaper urgently selected clipped and pasted but the room itself nowhere gone the address the house golden-oak banisters zigzagging upward, stained glass on the landings streaked porcelain in the bathrooms loose floorboards quitting in haste we pried up to secrete the rash imagination of a time to come What we said then, our breath remains otherwhere: in me in you 2 Sonata for Unaccompanied Minor Fugitive Variations discs we played over and over on the one-armed phonograph Childish we were in our adoration of the dead composer who’d ignored the weather signs trying to cross the Andes stupidly I’d say now And you’d agree seasoned as we are working stretched weeks eating food bought with ordinary grudging wages keeping up with rent, utilities a job of living as I said 3 Clocks are set back quick dark snow filters past my lashes this is the common ground white-crusted sidewalks windshield wipers licking, creaking to and fro to and fro If the word gets out if the word escapes if the word flies it dies it has its way of coming back The handwritings on the walls are vast and coded the music blizzards past