The Burnside Review - enjoy! - Debbie Guzzi's Blog

SOMETIMES WE STAND AT ROOF’S EDGE AND LOOK FOR OUR UNIVERSE
by Matthew Lippman

We saw the cardinal on the fence.  It depressed us.
It was too early for spring in March.
We took out the chainsaw and cut down the old tree.
It had fallen already.
We were mimes.
The sun gave us a handshake,
said welcome to my palace.
It was the palace of heat and orange rinds.
We jumped around until it got too much,
like spending five more minutes than the body can take
in the steam.
The cardinal made us sing to one another,
in the kitchen, our mouths open as wide as the top of a salt shaker unscrewed.
It felt like hamburgers on the grill.
It felt satin.
We went out to the yard with our cutting machine
and cut up the lawn.
It was already shredded from the fallen tree.
We played with our bodies, made them move like tattletales,
like fractured bones,
the celestial movement of the entire Milky.
Sometimes we stand at the roof’s edge and watch for our universe.
We can never see the whole thing.
When we were children, the whole thing was as visible as today’s little cardinal.
It was red and black and could withstand any sort of hydraulic pressure.
These days our telescopes need as much help focusing
through the disease of orange rind
as our spigots do clean water.
But we look through it anyway.
If the cardinal brings it to us
the rain is happy.
If the pollution truck brings it to us we have no choice
but to fear our own movement.
It is not funny.
It is not something we can even begin to mimic.

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I have defined what I believe to be some of the ITS- many of us get into trouble because we do not define our pronouns. Is this more understand able this way or not?

We saw the cardinal on the fence; it depressed us.
It was too early for spring in March. We took
out the chainsaw and cut down the old tree. It
had fallen already. We were mimes.

The sun gave us a handshake, said welcome to my palace.
It was the palace of heat and orange rind. We jumped
around until it got too much like spending five more
minutes than the body can take in the steam.

The cardinal made us sing to one another. In the kitchen
our mouths open as wide as the top of a ball jar unlatched.
The day felt like hamburgers on the grill. It felt satin. We went
out to the yard with our cutting machine and cut up the lawn.

The lawn was already shredded from the fallen tree. We
played with our bodies, made them move like tattletales,
like fractured bones mimicking the celestial movement of the
entire Milky. Sometimes we stand at the roof’s edge and watch

for our universe. We can never see the whole thing. When we were
children, the whole thing was as visible as today’s little cardinal,
who was red and black and could withstand any sort of hydraulic
pressure. These days our telescopes need as much help focusing

through the disease of orange rind of atmosphere as our spigots
do filtering clean water. But we look through the telescope anyway.

If the cardinal brings Spring to us the rain is happy. If the pollution
of trucks brings it to us we have no choice but to fear our own movement.

This discoloration is not funny;
it is not something we can even begin to mimic.

Do you like this? Let me know what you think about the line breaks? Why did the poet break where they did? Did they have a reason? If so, what do you think the reason was?