Sistine

Sistine

Below the painted heavens

and the hand outstretched

of God,

are tiles,

unnoticed, not seen.

They, so small across, span

the length of the room, the

hall, the

holy place.

Circles within circles

flowers blooming from chips of stone

turned to jewels by sunlight.

The same light that does not 

fully illume that exalted,

vaulted, beloved ceiling.

Geometric pattern-dance

made from mosaic,

proclaiming "glory, glory,"

in softer tones 

overshadowed by Angel song.

Footsteps, stumbling over

thresholds,

as all cross.

Their heads are tilted up in awe

A lost pencil

I just had it,
tucked behind my ear
and held there
by too thick rat's nest curls.
I've lost my pencil
the third one this week
to the black hole in my hair.

Now it joins the legion of bobby pins
and tortoiseshell patterned combs,
glitter from the year I was a faerie queen
and won "least surprising costume choice"

It's gone the way of styluses--stylusi?
and carved wood hair sticks
just an inch too short to stick out.
They should return when I shake out my hair
finger comb it into some
tiny semblance of neatness
but no.

wait, wait--no. that's a pen.
I was looking for that too,
and it will have to do
until I go to math.

Dancing on coals

Dancing on coals-
4:50
9th floor.

The cutter boy extends his hand

callused from working with heavy shears

since the shops reopened a year gone.

Flames are in his dark eyes,

“Gussie, here.”

I can hardly breathe, so I only nod

and take his hand.

Morris leads me into a dance, wild, and racing

I have to catch up the hem of my skirt

so as not to fall and be trampled.

Things are too crowded by the doorways:

no room for two more bodies there.

My breath catches in my throat,

the clamor is growing,

the windows are all open to dusk-grey air.

My shoes are too small and not made

for dancing on coals.

My feet burn as I stumble.

“Morris, I need air, I need—out.”

There are bonfires in his eyes, his face is glowing

and he nods, still holding my hand.

As we push through to one window

where the air is cooler,

he helps another girl up onto the ledge,

then another,

so they can breathe as well.

I raise a hand to his cheek,

my feet are burning and now my eyes as well.

I have only known him for this year,

when he delivered shirtwaists to my table.

But I want to be beside him

and he knows without saying.

He bows, then helps me to stand,

my hands shaking,

in the window frame.

I put my arms around him,

and kiss him long

longer than we have.

The flames behind us are growing.

My eyes find his, and

he lets me go, then follows me.

It does not take a long time to fall to the ground

even from nine stories up.

A guided tour of the McKay Library by a bored Library Aide before her shift

Submitted to BYU-I's last poet Standing 2014

Hi! How can I help you?

This is the circulation desk, check in, check out, put money

on your I card.

Only I can’t do that yet,

let me get a supervisor for you.

This way is the Commons-

cluttered with the coolest rolling tables and chairs ever.

You can meet people here

and read reference books.

A bank of computers,

 yes, they all print to any printer.

We have handy dandy cheat sheets with a how to,

or I can show you

if you like.

 Just there, by the elevator:

the post a poem board

with a mix of art and doggerel

for your enjoyment.

Oh, those are the stairs,

but don’t go down to the basement.

Alarms will sound

and  the creepy things kept captive

down there, who knows what,

will probably eat you,

along with the Monday clean out lunches

from the break room

like my hot pockets.

Follow me?

Here are some of the general collection books.

Everything is sorted

by the Library of Congress system,

so forget you ever thought you knew dewey decimal

it can’t help you here

but I can

or one of those posters on the shelves.

but I’m cooler than paper (and paler too

as I’m always inside.)

Now, upstairs?

The tutoring center—math and writing

and all are here

above the east wing.

Make an appointment!

Down this way we have,

surprise, surprise,

more books,

even some fiction

(hush, it’s literature, old bindings with older text)

no, not Harry Potter

this is a college library.

Harry’s upstairs.

Also: study rooms! Perfect for writer’s circles

or private tutoring with friends

or hiding from zombie dinosaurs

(it’s been 65 million years since the last

Incident

but it never hurts to prepare.)

Past the special collections room

we have a bunch of neat stuff,

Like a book no bigger than a child’s palm

and Bibles just a few years younger

than dirt.

Shhhhhh. This is the quiet section.

turn off your phone

and for the love of Dickens

whisper.

Or you may be mobbed by

over worked study-stressed students

and the odd octopod.

Third floor,

you can talk again.

No really.

You can even chatter as you browse

our popular books collection

and books for the young

and young at heart

(yes, we have Harry Potter here,

and Hunger Games

and a great many books

you’ve never heard of

but may fall in love with)

Down the hall is the computer help desk

in case your macbook gets the flu

or gives up on chemistry.

And if you’ll look to your left,

the dragons are loose

walk, don’t run, for your life.

elevator’s around the corner.