Water falls from the bright air

it falls like hair 

falling across a young girl’s shoulders

 

Water falls

making pools in the asphalt 

dirty mirrors with clouds and buildings inside

 

It falls on the roof of my house

it falls on my mother and on my hair

most people call it rain

 

My little pumpkin,

I like to think about other girls sometimes,

but the truth is

if you ever left me

I’d tear my heart out 

and never put it back.

There’ll never be anyone like you 

How embarrassing.

 

 

There’s an old song

my grandfather used to sing 

that has the question,

“or would you rather be a fish?”

 

In the same song 

is the same question 

but with a mule and a pig

but the one I hear sometimes

in my head is the fish one.

Just that one line.

 

Would you rather be a fish?

As if the rest of the song 

didn’t have to be there.

 

 

I go through 

trillions of molecules

that move aside

to made way for me

while on both sides,

trillions more

stay where they are.

 

The windshield wiper blade

starts to squeak.

The rain has stopped.

I stop.

 

One the corner

a boy 

in the yellow raincoat 

holding his mother’s hand.

 

 

We have plenty of matches in our house.

We keep them on hand always.

Currently our favourite brand is Ohio Blue Tip,

though we used to prefer Diamond Brand.

That was before we discovered Ohio Blue Tip matches.

They are excellently packaged, sturdy

little boxes with dark and light blue and white labels

with words lettered in the shape of a megaphone,

as if to say even louder to the world,

“Here is the most beautiful match in the world,

                                             so sober and furious

and stubbornly ready to burst into flame,

lighting, perhaps, the cigarette of the woman you love,

for the first time, and it was never really the same

after that.

All this will we give you.”

 

That is what you gave me, I

become the cigarette and you the match, or I

the match and you the cigarette, blazing

with kisses that smoulder towards heaven.

 

 

When you’re a child you learn there are three dimensions

Height, width, and depth

Like a shoebox.

Then later you hear there’s a fourth dimension:
time

Hmm.

Then some say there can be five, six, seven…

 

I knock off work, 

have a beer

at the bar

I look down at the glass

and feel glad.

 

When I wake up earlier than you, and you

are turned to face me, face

on the pillow and hair spread around,

I take a chance and stare at you,

amazed in love and afraid

that you might open your eyes and have

the daylights scared out of you.

 

But maybe with the daylights gone

you’d see how much my chest and head

implode for you, their voices trapped

inside like unborn children fearing 

they will never see the light of day

 

The opening in the wall now dimly glows 

its rainy blue and gray. I tie my shoes

and go downstairs to put the coffee on.

 

 

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Words: Pumpkin, The Line, The Run, Love Poem, Another One, Glow, written by Ron Padgett from the movie, Paterson. 

Water Falls written by Jim Jarmusch for Paterson

Images: Stills from Roma. Written and Directed by Alfonso Cuaron

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xii by a.o.