Don’t be so oversensitive.
The curtains will be put up in good time.
The shadows from the cage around the
windows falls when the moon is full.

Am I swimming?
My hands are cold when I ride my bike,
but I never think of buying gloves.
The moon was full two nights ago.

Today is a sign of
vertical stripes.
It will not go down in history,
but someday, my son will say,

“mom, were you alive when it was
11.11.11?” and I’ll say,
“Yea. I was.”
And he’ll say, “where were you?”

And I’ll tell him I was in Union Square
waiting tables,drinking tea with Ngonda,
before her trip to the Congo,

babysitting for the Wasko’s
on the lower east side.

How do I remember?
I wrote it down.
I write it all down.

Your buttons are now a poem.
Each small victory
howls at the moon.

Somewhere, not far from here,
a man is painting on his napkin
with soy sauce.

The woman behind the counter
Removes dirty dishes from
the counter.
He keeps painting.

I am her.
The sun went down
two hours ago.


About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
This entry was posted in fall, Poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to 11.11.11

  1. Wow! The pictures you paint here are so vividly enchanting. I love this! I am off to read more of your blog 🙂

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s