by Thomas Zimmerman
She puts a record on, a scratchy thing,
some Haydn string quartets, a thrift-shop steal,
a Mahler and a Beethoven among
the haul. More clutter for the house, but comfort
for the mind. Or the emotions. Oh,
OK: the soul. But why is it so hard
for her to say such things? Yes, irony
can ring as false as earnestness. There’s nothing
false about the music. Lighter than
she’d like, but she could use some sun. Root-pale
and growing gnarlier, she twists infinity
into a peanut shell. Dark matter,
this. The needle’s found its way to freedom.
Now the labyrinth spins silently.
Thomas Zimmerman (he/him/his) teaches English, directs the Writing Center, and edits The Big Windows Review https://thebigwindowsreview.com/ at Washtenaw Community College, in Ann Arbor, Michigan. His poems have appeared recently in The Beatnik Cowboy, M58, and the anthology Extreme Sonnets. Tom’s website: https://thomaszimmerman.wordpress.com/