Essays on Literature, Literary / Textual Criticism, and Pedagogy
Editor: Ollie O. Oviedo, Eastern New Mexico University
Assistant Editors: Royal Prentice, Harvey Stanbrough,
Eastern New Mexico University
Poetry
sleepwalkers
Nancy Henderson
the day-long santa ana winds die an electrifying death
magnetizing the daynight to sloth
enveloping the garden around the pool
in hush
I listen keenly to
spring springing—sprung
from its sleeping cocoon
the flawless glass-mirror surface
of the pool reflects
my suspicions
buried in the lush vegetation of my mind
as snapping twigs, rustling leaves
punctuate the night
heralding a noble presence
a lethargic-driven beast is loose
just outside the range of the pool's light
~~~ the tv announcer a repulsively handsome
muscle-bound 24-year-old
from Miami rattles on
about the champion biker from Czechoslovakia
doing his tightrope artistry on one wheel
awesome commercial-biker tricks for Volvo
dropping from abandoned car hood
to car hood in an auto graveyard
without missing a beat
in good broken English he laments—
"it's too hard-speaking English,"
retake after retake ~~~
meanwhile the creature in the darkened garden performs
of backyard fences, cinder-block ledges
impervious to boundaries, property lines, gates,
alerting posted canine sentries
~~~ t.v.'s Charlie Rose spars rhetorically
with his Israeli guests Rubin and Sharon
about territorial imperatives ~~~
whatever happened to manifest destiny?
whole eras where maps called the shots
pins and flags defined
perimeters once invisible to the naked eye are
likewise oblivious to this creature's nose
a once noble beast lost in vegetation
creates his own limitations, his own maps
content to shadowbox the vacuous night
he hugs prickly bougainvillea, cypress,
olive, loquat and avocado trees
his journey one of mere sustenance
the raid of an others larder
he dismisses out of hand
avocados, lemons, apples, night crawlers
midnight snacks
leaving hansel and gretel trails, rejects
half devoured, bitten, gnawed spoils of war
abandoned, strewn around the pool
the only evidence of his meanderings
his forages, his campaigns into enemy terrain
leave a ribbon an ants
retracing a finicky appetite
unlike me he seems to prefer solitary meals
he is a sleepwalker
like the night crawlers he digs
maybe we are both sleepwalkers, loners
relegated to the shadows
I, too, move along a spine
working my way precariously along ledges
edges of my territory
we all move through remembered passages
like dopplegangers, doubles, foils, chimeras
but I distinctly dislike dining alone
~~~ the tv sports announcer heralds
the joys of greyhound racing care:
One owner exclaims like a proud parent
"these dogs are my children;
they probably eat better than you or I." ~~~
at this late hour
perched behind my wall of glass
that likewise fences, bounds me in
from the creature without
I wend my way in a maze of no moral meaning
at the midnight hour
as the santa ana's die down
as spring springs forth relentlessly
unable to sleep fit or in a fitful sleep
I wash windows, walls of windows,
my movements, too, are unseen evidences
preceded and punctuated by sounds—
squeaks of the squeegee
in a santa ana night
trail like nails drawn slowly across a blackboard
I hone glass until it sparkles
free of spots, streaks, stains and blemishes
the marred trails of a not so noble beast
my mind wanders in endless meaningless labor
against an old enemy—decay
dust, dirt and grim, time's children
I sleepwalk in an exercise labyrinth
of smooth-glass pristine surfaces
"what's it like to wander in a night garden of vegetation?"
I muse
as I clean the stubborn glass corners of smudges
corners that collect remnants of memories
past histories now revised, cleaned up to please progress
isn't cleanliness next to godliness?
~~~ the sport's announcer drops in
to observe jai alia
he inquires about
the amazing "pelota" shot
reputed to be the fastest ball in sports
building awesome speeds of 75 miles an hour
using a four-wall court ~~~
I wonder, am I, too, a throwback
an outcast out of sync
in the way of day
what is this myth of freedom
sneaking around rattling the bushes,
perched precariously on ledges
just beyond the glass window walls
I tend again to the task at hand
living a lie behind glass just beyond vegetation
sleepwalking I polish glass windows
with ammonia, water and old newspapers
yesterday's history rolled up in mushy wads
until they're shredded
I watch the scrub water turn gray, black, ebony
in the bucket, I go change it
move the ladder and some furniture
more squeaks & rivulets of water
descend & run in military phalanxes
down the now pristine glass surfaces
after windex and two newspaper polishings
like the marsupial creature suddenly caught unawares
in the pool's light
having reached the edges of his maze-like-prison
I, too, am caught unaware by the
T.V.'s cycloptic all-seeing glass eye
~~~ the star-spangled banner is playing
the stars and stripes are waving, billowing
the screen is all snowy
the public service announcement murmurs:
"it's two o'clock: do you know where your children are?" ~~~
hugging the clean glass
a motionless statue gazes back at me
mid stroke, polishing arm raised in greeting
a salute, a sieg heil encased in class
inside an ancient vestal virgin tends
shadows instead of flames
outside once again thrashing sounds
crescendo from the bougainvillaea
the creature is not afraid of me
he's out in the open, pathetic, ugly pointy-faced creature
with a naked rat-like tail
he carries like a whip
ugly visage and physique
he's got nothing going for him
he drags the past
no wonder he's outlawed himself
by choice, by principle
he has no prospects for the day,
where soft-bellied creatures get slit,
ripped open, gutted by glass polishers
hence, he hangs out in my garden
and we sleepwalk on bone-dry santa ana nights
like this, eyeing each other cautiously
from a distance
separated by glass.
Last Modified 12 Feb 2000
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