Sheila E. Murphy: Four Poems

 

One Hundred Fifth

 

She digs to the nearest possible depth,

and goes there. She prefers unhappiness.

 

Look at the formatted disk drive newly

acquired and tell me all you have to place there.

 

All the mail was junk sent reflexively

to the cubic inches named after me.

 

Weather today shines the way your blue eyes

used to shine, I still see them when I look.

 

In the film, a brandy Alexander

meant false happiness, our one argument.

 

 

One Hundred Sixth

 

Some days the Sistene Chapel seems as probable as pale smoke.

Would you like a hand-rolled cigarette kept just for this occasion?

 

My best mentor was a wooden doll that fit inside another

Wooden doll, that fit inside, and so forth, as the doctor ordered.

 

Saturdays, we have Greek food, usually, and we order custom

Perfectly crafted choices, and the people know what we prefer.

 

Lamp dust is the beginning of information shared with those who would prefer

To be completely wise without it, just to be acknowledged as that wise.

 

Each book completed mimics the threshold of common innocence.

I recollect that I must be a child again, against all probability.

 

 

One Hundred Seventh

 

From this distance I have watched you all the time

my accidental child this unclaimed shred of moonlight.

 

Eighty-eight degrees Fahrenheit, just before midnight

In the Valley of the Sun, the breath of cool inside.

 

Man with the Italian leather shoes and perfect shirts,

the therapist I mean, enters the building with wisdom.

 

She has opted to reserve feeling for things now,

to delimit pain, and to contain infection.

 

Washing the legs allows a change in surface.

Afterwards, warm and soft bright blue socks toward sleep.

 

 

One Hundred Eighth

 

She can add, she decided she would do something

With that; for years now, she has gathered, even classified.

 

Not once in my previous existence, did I believe

My thoughts had worth, but they were where I lived precisely.

 

The feeling of having warm water poured across one’s tired arms

In the tub, revives an innocence that had lost most of its form.

 

Tuesday has a name, and people use it in the vernacular

To distinguish between it and some other stack of moments.

 

The catalog that just arrived boasts of a free camera,

Only I cannot find notice of a minimum purchase anywhere