Photo by J. R. Korpa
A Hat on the Bed
Steven Mayoff
It is dark magic making itself
at home for an afternoon,
all bare cupboards and a skip
in the phonograph.
It is evil spirits living in hair
and the hat portending
a death
in Jewish households.
It is lice from the Old World
migrating to pillow cases
and bad luck pressed under plastic
in all the photo albums.
Hats and beds come together
in an unholy alliance: the outside
world encroaching
through the keyhole.
A hat on the bed invites a visitation
of unsettling dreams
molded into hospital corners.
Cocked toes strain
Against a cocoon’s thread count.
We all pray for a little death (une petite
mort) to grace this hard-scrabble existence,
before rising miraculously
from our beds
to cross the Great Divide.
Steven Mayoff
It is dark magic making itself
at home for an afternoon,
all bare cupboards and a skip
in the phonograph.
It is evil spirits living in hair
and the hat portending
a death
in Jewish households.
It is lice from the Old World
migrating to pillow cases
and bad luck pressed under plastic
in all the photo albums.
Hats and beds come together
in an unholy alliance: the outside
world encroaching
through the keyhole.
A hat on the bed invites a visitation
of unsettling dreams
molded into hospital corners.
Cocked toes strain
Against a cocoon’s thread count.
We all pray for a little death (une petite
mort) to grace this hard-scrabble existence,
before rising miraculously
from our beds
to cross the Great Divide.