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Vanishing Interior

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Little patches of grass disappear
In the jaws of lusty squirrels
 
Who slip into the spruce.
Cars collapse into parts.
 
Spring dissolves into summer,
The kitten into the cat.
 
A tray of drinks departs from the buffet
And voilà! the party’s over.
 
All that’s left are some pickles
And a sprig of wilting parsley on the rug.
 
When I think of all those
Gong-tormented Mesozoic seas
 
I feel a ripple of extinction
And blow a smoke ring through the trees.
 
Soon there will be nothing left here but sky.
When I think about the fact
 
I am not thinking about you
It is a new way of thinking about you.


Suzanne Buffam, "Vanishing Interior" from The Irrationalist. Copyright © 2010 by Suzanne Buffam.  Reprinted by permission of Canarium Books.
Source: The Irrationalist (Canarium Books, 2010)
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Vanishing Interior

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