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Michael Jay's avatar

I loved the craft essay about Brautigan. As a teen, I came across him, and my interest in poetry and writing was launched. My old books of his, now browned with age and falling apart, I return to occasionally. His ‘watched over by machines of loving grace’ seems prescient in our current context.

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Radically accessible poems's avatar

The Material vs. the Spiritual

On the day when four men carry the taped boxes,

the chairs and tables, the knickknacks down

the steep driveway, pack two trucks and pilot them

through narrow streets to hoist and carry

each object into another house

and stack them in the empty corresponding rooms,

on the day I scurry from one house

to the other, driving my mother’s coffee table

to the storage locker with Larry’s mother’s china,

directing the movers as their shouts

echo up stairwells, down hallways,

while my knees ache and my feet swell,

on the day when there’s no hot water and I

can’t find the cups, a day when we decide

what to do with each half-full bottle,

the bent trowel, the button

that vaguely reminds me of something that’s been

missing it, several hundred scraps of paper

marked by my hand, a stray mothball or two,

it’s hard to believe in a life that exists

apart from this one, a transcendent glimmer

as elusive as the slit in the skinny shaft

of the needle, the needle itself buried

in a box whose label I can’t decipher,

can’t even think about

until I’ve found, somewhere,

the coffee.

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