24. wrapping paper

by Conner Cowan

I watched you tear books apart today.
The psychology textbook,
Astrology,
101 Microwave Dinners, and
Revelation.

What did you see in
the lobster with lemon, like the vague outline of
Scorpio?
Or what about Freud,
with his perfect white
beard, glaring from behind
the flowers?

There must have been dreams hidden
between the pages only
you could find
that I
would never have.

You spilled glue and eyelashes
and cheap perfume over everything.
You put fat-bellied men in the left corner,
right next to the arches of your cathedral,
flooded with cosmos.

I taught you about collage today
and watched you
unwrap all the paper.
In forty minutes or less,
all of you gave me a gift.

I pulled each desk to the wall and swept up the remains,
like linen from the cave,
and the life had risen
and gone out.

---

Conner is an English teacher at Seabreeze High School in Daytona Beach, Florida. Poetry is one of the few things that keep him grounded; to find hope and explore the mysteries of mankind's time on earth.