she wakes up and something’s changed.
The parrot in the cage has stopped speaking English.
The line of ants has skipped the syrup.
The lawn has changed its mind
and is now leaning left.

The radio has gone opera, and the bananas
have softened for the strawberries.
The air, sabotaged by light, now courses
from the china cabinet towards the knife
drawer, and the skylights leaks leaves.

The crows have dipped their tails in white paint,
the fat pygmy goat is in love with a coyote,
and love has become so red, the trees have bent
their leafy heads, coughing blood.

       –Sholeh Wolpé (from Keeping Time with Blue Hyacinths)

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