Bamboo Church

Two Wings: She would drift into the kitchen trailing fragments of a hymn that spoke of God, a river, the pair of golden wings that would be hers on Judgement Day and were you to look at her then you might well decide your best bet for a meal would be to eat out: she was blind and appeared a little lost in her tile and linoleum kingdom. But she vaguely addressed the garlic, the onion, the tomato and between her hands rubbed a sprig of rosemary over olive oil. A fragrance then arose and you decided you had best sit down. And you did. Did you fall asleep? Did you dream? You awoke to the smart snap of sails: the billowing of a tablecloth. She returned and a generous bowl was placed in front of you. Then she crossed her arms and waited: her prayer done, your eating was its Amen.

If Map of Dreams ended with the poet unable to reach his dreamt island, here he returns to the world around him and finds it full: a blind cook clattering in her kitchen, a great-uncle raising birds behind locked doors, lovers writing to each other out of touch and out of synch. He sees as well a world riven by magic: Noah's wife and her tears, a broom yearning for a dance, an angel inventing the blues. Like the mime in "Marcel," Bamboo Church sets a lavish table "in the house of the hungry."