The day the air conditioning broke in the wax museum

 

It’s like Marilyn Monroe’s breasts are onions, layers are just falling off.

Jimmy Carter is sweating, south Georgia style, and still smiling.

It was never this hot in politics.

Einstein’s thoughts are finally tamed and follow the parade down his arms.

They sleep on the floor tonight.

In the hall of horrors the executioners are wondering, “What have I done to deserve this?”

and the prisoners are free.

The Amazon tribe, decorating bodies so their souls can’t escape, are losing.

Every one of them.  The souls are flying around the ceiling.

The saints aren’t in any better shape but at least they’re used to suffering.

Saint Catherine thinks this is just another hallucination, watching the others melt.

She’s trying to interpret it while her brain slips down her throat.

There’s a whole Garden of Eden melting into one.

The floor is sticking to my shoes.

I’m taking nirvana with me.

 

(c) Danielle Hanson

Poem appeared in Roanoke Review and Ambushing Water (Brick Road Poetry Press)

List of Confessions

 

I left a mirror hidden in the shadows

to trap the sun.  I held the moon

under water and watched her drown.

I stapled a spider to the sky,

and then another, and then another

in the outline of you.

I practiced getting lost so I could lead you astray.

I captured your words in a jar with vinegar.

I pickled your words. 

I made your words into a condiment.

I am slowly replacing you

with hair I collect from your pillow.

I forgot to take a picture of your absence.

I deleted the picture I took of your absence.

 

(c) Danielle Hanson

The Secret Doors

 

The secret doors of Heaven open

As if they could dismantle all we’ve done,

As if the water in the jars could become sweet again

After turning bitter from our angry words last night.

Pick up the shards of them, poor shadows.

Hold them up to the light dripping in from the window.

Let them rest and then circle overhead.

Let us become the meadow to their hawk.

 

(c) Danielle Hanson