That thread of fate down through my mind and spine
still dangles, jangles me, a marionette
erect then limp, just smart enough to get
a cosmic joke. It’s tugging at my wine-
skin heart, that rind half-split with needs, tonight.
A kitchen fire, a dog that’s bit a man,
a supper tantrum fit for Calaban:
calamities in minor key that might
erupt like Mahler’s Ninth, that’s playing on,
unless I cool the warm detachment that
I’ve cultivated. Garden not yet gone
to weeds. Potatoes snug. Bell peppers fat.
And when my thread is cut, will I see God?
Wake screaming? Or return to rain and sod?
Thomas Zimmerman teaches English, directs the Writing Center, and edits two literary magazines at Washtenaw Community College, in Ann Arbor, Michigan. His chapbook In Stereo: Thirteen Sonnets and Some Fire Music appeared from The Camel Saloon Books on Blog in 2012. Tom’s website: thomaszimmerman.wordpress.com/