Homing
She wants to know what we’ve decided.
They all do.
We are standing in a hallway. Endless.
There are countless closets. Someone has a key.
No, we are sitting. It is raining all around us.
The table is dry. There is a pillow
of wet above us. We are feeding each other with large spoons.
It is a chowder, not a stew. There are not enough
clams. There are always two sides.
The curse of opposites.
What is the answer? Can you imagine it?
There are houses of pigeons in the back yard.
Trapped. We walk up and down many stairs.
On the second floor we have to give our passports
to the official behind the glass door. There are no
stamps on any of the pages. Someone has a red
ink pad perched open.
The ground is gravel. No, it is burgundy carpet.
Even the walls are covered
in carpet. There is an illuminated painting
of The Last Supper above the fish
tank. We wait for the train.
No, it is the bus. The lights shine
in our faces. The bus splashes
a curb puddle like a jet of hose. We are
the flowers. The doors don’t open. And then
she asks again.
After Rumi
Listen. Today, you will
put down your staff.
You will
rest
your fingers.
No typing.
No dialing of numbers.
Today, you shall
listen.
Listen with every part
of your body.
You did not know
your eyes are able
to listen?
Even your organs
can listen.
Do not fear
that feeling
in your chest.
It is
air.
Gabriella M. Belfiglio’s work has appeared most recently in the Lambda Literary Review as the featured poet. She has also had writing published in the award-winning anthology Poetic Voices Without Borders, as well as The Dream Catcher’s Song, Avanti Popolo, Folio, The Centrifugal Eye, CC&D, Podium, and The Potomac Review, among other places. She works as an artist and teacher in New York City.
She wants to know what we’ve decided.
They all do.
We are standing in a hallway. Endless.
There are countless closets. Someone has a key.
No, we are sitting. It is raining all around us.
The table is dry. There is a pillow
of wet above us. We are feeding each other with large spoons.
It is a chowder, not a stew. There are not enough
clams. There are always two sides.
The curse of opposites.
What is the answer? Can you imagine it?
There are houses of pigeons in the back yard.
Trapped. We walk up and down many stairs.
On the second floor we have to give our passports
to the official behind the glass door. There are no
stamps on any of the pages. Someone has a red
ink pad perched open.
The ground is gravel. No, it is burgundy carpet.
Even the walls are covered
in carpet. There is an illuminated painting
of The Last Supper above the fish
tank. We wait for the train.
No, it is the bus. The lights shine
in our faces. The bus splashes
a curb puddle like a jet of hose. We are
the flowers. The doors don’t open. And then
she asks again.
After Rumi
Listen. Today, you will
put down your staff.
You will
rest
your fingers.
No typing.
No dialing of numbers.
Today, you shall
listen.
Listen with every part
of your body.
You did not know
your eyes are able
to listen?
Even your organs
can listen.
Do not fear
that feeling
in your chest.
It is
air.
Gabriella M. Belfiglio’s work has appeared most recently in the Lambda Literary Review as the featured poet. She has also had writing published in the award-winning anthology Poetic Voices Without Borders, as well as The Dream Catcher’s Song, Avanti Popolo, Folio, The Centrifugal Eye, CC&D, Podium, and The Potomac Review, among other places. She works as an artist and teacher in New York City.