David Wojciechowski
Outside the Window, Birds Chirp
after Madame Faut Pas, d. S. Janik, 1970
A woman goes to the store and purchases a little old man. She brings him home, gives him a bed, a little hat. She lets him select a book from her shelves and she reads it to him. She nails good luck to the wall. She barricades the windows. She does what she can to shield him from the outside world. She brings music to him. She plays a cello for him. The little old man gets smaller. The little old man, looking at the portraits on the wall, falls in love with the past. The little old man gets smaller. The woman puts the little old man to bed. In the morning, she can’t find him. She checks behind curtains. She checks under his hat. She can’t find him, but the little old man is there. He’s so small now, he’s between atoms. The little old man is between all the atoms. He has a little cello. He plays a little song. You can hear it in the near silence all around you.
***
Blue Memory
after Old Cowboy, d. W. Giersz, 1973
I walk across a moment. I have been here before. I hear the galloping of many houses, but I see no houses. I tilt my head and dump out a sea of clocks, clouds, suitcases, flowers. Songs and mountains fall out. A pale blue flies overhead. I keep walking. In town long ago, a fish, a mouth, a god, and a funeral are waiting for me. I keep walking across a never-ending moment. I slump. I hear thieves and gunfire. I tilt my head and pour out smoke and bullet casings. A pale blue flies overhead, circling me. I lie down in the moment. From high above, I’m a stain clad in black. An ink puddle. Something that from far enough away cannot be seen and you’d never know I was here in the first place.
***
It’s a Rescue, It’s a Trap
after Mill, dir. M. Kijowicz, 1971
A man takes his pet man for a walk. They pass many trees. They live in an old mill. The big wooden wheel churns out thoughts as it creaks and drips. Until it doesn’t. Until it stops. A man lies in a hammock while his pet man hums a song that sounds a lot like the trees. There’s a third man in the trees watching and waiting. Let’s call him tree man. A man and his pet man go home. Tree man is now hiding behind a man’s fence. Let’s call tree man fence man now. Fence man and a man’s pet man run off in the night. A man walks in his yard smoking a pipe. His pet man returns with a pet man of his own.
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David Wojciechowski is the author of Dreams I Never Told You & Letters I Never Sent (Gold Wake, 2017) and the chapbook Koniec (End) (Greying Ghost, 2023). His poems can be found in Bateau, Bending Genres, HAD, Meridian, Willow Springs, and elsewhere. David is the editor of Postcard and a freelance graphic designer. He can be found at davidwojo.com and on X and Instagram @MrWojoRising.