Everywhere the light touches

By Anna Merryman

The Sun Rises Over The Plains Of New Jersey it never sets here i wouldn’t know if it did i see it winking across the tops of the alps melting the chocolate into drips like raclette over a bonfire water dribbles over boxes of butter and bags of obsessively large bunches of spinach DON’T touch the electric fence but i grab on to the coursing current in the shape of a tiny Graceful hand is that my head ringing? or the cow herd’s constant dialtone? Hang up. Leave a voicemail. Call again if you ever visit People are like telephones this one is temporarily out of order. Don’t break the connection. just hang up and try again. Sol flares up saluting the Queen Silent as her guard queued up round a vat of tea globally referred to as the crown jewels. i try making them crack, jolly as a beefeater wearing ol’ St. Nicholas on his jumper i stare at the sky full of stars playing in the cold planetarium dome If the comets war i’ll twist tea towels into buns sandwiching my head and join the rebellion but until then i’ll stay in my spaceship made of leaves and falcon feathers Spying on Peter Rabbit and cabbage-murdering slugs. The sun illuminates a lighthouse on the sound Waves tap beat against the blunt hull of my 420 Boots and cats and But if you’re from Africa…? For The Sun Also Rises Over Kilimanjaro, Bright against the tin can dala dalas Dented by slamming doors and butting bull horns and konyagi or Mama Pimas. The mzungu yells to her murder of white crowds A sanitary juxtapose to the mosaic of kangas and kitenges bedazzling the dusty market Four Masaai tug a mule bogged down in cotton mud Tufts pluck at the cart wheels, encasing the wood with a layer of the past. A plastic mountain formed of Kilimanjaro. The crator becomes the created But At Least Its Top Hasn’t Blown. yet. i watch the silhouette of Angkor Wat deepen Ants practice the dead-man’s-float in my soup cup, snaking their way through eel broth Have you had your rice today? The feeling of wind-propelled rain and leather on my skin as i waffle my hands around my dad Hold tight. legs loose on left. Avoiding speed bumps is a lesson tattooed on my mind. video game driving. i wonder whether to add this to the list of homes that seems to lengthen with every flight for 10 months? for 10 weeks? for 10 days? for 10 hours? numbers can never quantify a feeling