Reckless Sonnet #7
Maybe only your closest confidante
can know where you've landed. Maybe
your survival depends on laying low,
twisted up in several blankets in front of the TV
or else—what? The return call to your ex
looking for his distressed leather
or the deadline for indexing a book on jade antiques—
will consume you like a shadow opening its beak.
Maybe it's necessary to blend into a corner of the
so you dress in a beige sweater and chinos. A hat.
from the cherry tree ugly-nest caterpillar
who chews up leaves then rolls in its own shit,
nestles with others in that same foliage.
For an inspired quiet.
From "Reckless Sonnets" THE ARTIST'S DAUGHTER (W.W. Norton, 2002)