The Hour of the Rat

We were in the woods, at first
on a road  

in an underpass
feeling safe, 5 pm  

We passed a woman and man
setting up their panhandling,

smiling
as if into a mirage

a demon   carnivorous  
with a head the size of a planet

the man got scared   ran into the leaves

the woman   wearing fleece
did all the setting up

I wanted to say, No one’s coming through
you should go to 4th or

+

The woods
were calm,

we were descending
?
a narrow cliff ledge

mountain goats or mules
might travel

a sheer drop   thousands of feet,

ten miles to the ground
which was, from that height,

earth   the vast unchanging desert

the first generation of skin
shaved down

to the lunar plants   camouflaged

into the plaster-white dust
and gray-dust without people

the oasis,   stormed out of itself,  

emptied the land  
festered f

was a planet
alienating

+

Last night, for example,
we were in a city
the streets were steep
and covered in moss,

we were gliding
down the streets   medieval stones,
cemeteries on every shoulder,

Earlier we were drinking milk with straws
the milk was on the floor   entertainment

We glided
the moss

We passed an enormous house,
the house where the mother lived   many boats
stacked on top of each other,

is how a millionaire lives
neverending  

with milk

The woman was cagey,
had a child   cauliflower

+

You sing the words of every book,
and the words become soft

you hold the softness in your lap
with a presence in which all earnings are kept,

and emanate
the cologne of policy   occupation

while the story [is] sung
milk on the heads

moss, moss too
a sunflower

+

Earlier we were on a sheep farm
the sheep were dead,
their bodies denuded, strewn like driftwood  

An unseen force was shooting from the sky

was the day before Pearl Harbor
we did not see the sheep being murdered,

as we crashed the woman’s house,
slid down the moss
with milk on the floor,
the earth below   empty

+

The cliff ledge was so narrow
I did not think we were going to make it
There was nothing to hold on to

the cliff was white,
the milk had dried,

earth   above the earth
was petrified

milk,
and we were sliding down it.

Remember when we walked freely through the seasons?

 


The Hour of the Rat
for Akaresa

I walked past the men
in the empty fields
and entered a long track between fences

By walking, I thought, I’ll escape
the turning of the town
into a stadium

where dismemberment is routine,  

and into another   more
earthen country.

At the end of the fences
four long root cellars had been neglected.

Everyone who tended them was dead,

their descendants slept openly   sometimes
falsely

at the table,   like vents
in winter storms

An old man, no one’s uncle
emerged from the root cellar
carrying two large tumors,

the old man held out
as if
the Tree of Life

coiled   had roseate spirals

i i touched   Harvested

at dusk

love grew
subdued  

Because
the vacuum is complete,

you’re never safe
mmake god  


 The Hour of the Rat

I have a dog. The dog is not mine.
Have, like   having sex?

having dog.
in the woods, walking a path.

the woods tilt   become triangle.

The dog is a train, pulling me
to the top of the woods 

We lived on
that lake.

in the midst
of babies. Innumerable

not many We knew.
We were focused

on solitude,   kept inviting friends over,

There was a fake fireplace
and a bag of carrots

The lake turned to ice.
one night.

quasars bounding
the sound of


  

The Field

two daughters began talking to us,
several more daughters appeared

until there were twelve or eleven

We listened to them explain
The Field

a place, the daughters said,
we simply had to go.

They gathered at the window
Can we see it from here?

a field with grass and flowers,
No,  

How can we
explain? They didn’t

try. But you have to
go. Is it far?

a 2 mile walk   Just
follow the road.

We climbed into a makeshift wagon,
strapped Yumi’s stroller to the back

passed a mall

Then the road ended
And we were in the woods

crossing streams
that flowed into waterfalls,

cold   clear
our feet became bare

to endure the moment of pleasure   finality,
because that is where we were
when it ended     

the sound of the waterfall  
the bold mirror sunk into

the shadow of the pond
to the bottom of the pond
spun into a brown sugar extract

We had been turned loose
had been promised The Field,

but virtues were singular, could not be replicated

our crossing the stream
was tantamount
to liberating ourselves from believing, belief

We were deer, a family of deer,
passing into the camouflage mystic


Brandon Shimoda is a yonsei poet/writer, and the author of several books, most recently The Grave on the Wall (City Lights). His next book, Hydra Medusa (poetry and prose written in the desert), is coming out next year from Nightboat Books. His front door faces a mountain.