You googlemap the directions from here to there
and find seven minutes -
seven minutes that could make or break the diorama,
the other players arriving out-of-turn,
unannounced, at all hours,
sometimes with bags of groceries
which they unpack and shelve
as enthusiastically as new hires,
later flopping down
on the couch, grabbing the flicker,
channel-surfing,
leaping intuitively to the ending they must have,
these mere players,
playing their many parts,
their table-reads off the grid,
between the lines,
improvisational, winging-it,
flying by the seat of their pants,
creating havoc, scenes colliding, mounting to confusion.
And then the ungraspable somewhere.
The moment to moment.
Drafting the incense of homecoming
as you follow the directions,
follow the rights and lefts,
climb the stairs, and review your notes,
one last time, outside the locked door.
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| Anja Niemi |