[an error occurred while processing this directive]

Synesthetes at the Writers House    by Bernadette Mayer
    I'm pleased to announce
    that staying at the Writers House
    is like living under a multi-colored apple tree
    in winter; syneshetes would tremble with pleasure
    tempera paint and chalk make a fromidable coat
    of many colors, in summer pink and white blossoms fall on your head
    to the south here, a forest
    to the east, only snow and a garden
    to the north a road and forest
    to the west forest, a blue halloween-observing house
    a long time ago my latin teacher, Sister Aloysia asked me
    what happened to my curls
    "It's damp out," I said.
    "You're in a damn pout," she said.
    In Philadelphia a chupacabra* came to the door but we kept her out
    there everyone can speak Latin and Greek
    for dinner we had cauliflower and leek soup
    with scallops and caviar
    the sky looks blue which feels like stilettoes
    Sophia's plant is green, just like an 'E'
    living in the embers of a fire/tree
    Writers House; harbinger's words
                  *that's like a locust (not the tree) only bigger