How to Get Dry
The first question of course was, how to get dry again?
– Carroll
Sometimes the floods come quickly –
each slipped tear from your massive face
accumulates and you are turned small
again, left to raft the bitter ocean
with a French mouse who starts
at your slippery tongue. It is one way
to get through the door. The other,
demands of food and drink – each nibbled
piece, politely lipped sip, makes you
someone you are not. Or rather, variations
on the theme of you, grown too small
for your clothes again, the dress splayed
on the floor like a body, your body,
left in a cold sort of sleep. The trick
is to get dry again. The mouse thinks
philosophy, history, its doomed
repetition. The Dodo suggests you run –
anywhere, racing yourself until you clasp
hands on bony knees and forget
where you were sprinting from.
There are no towels for this
sort of rain. And you don’t
know when to stop