Concentration
Atlantic, The, October, 2001 by Linda Bierds
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Concentration We understand the egg-sized ship, the thread-and-spindle masts, the parchment sailspuffed to a rigid billow. And the light bulb that enfolds it. We understand the man, Graham Leach, his passion for impossibles . We see him,tucked within the vapor of his jasmine tea, while heron-toed forceps slowly wed a deckhand to a tear of glue.The rudder would lodge in the bulb's slim throatbut could be folded, slipped inside, reopened into seamlessness.
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We understand that sleight of hand but not this full-size pocket watchupright in a 30-watt. Perhaps it's made of lesser stuffthan gold, some nonmetallic pliancy. Still, it mirrors the museum shelf, and to the left the plump barque, static in its perfect globe.Perhaps he blew a gaping bulband then tucked the watch inside, re-warmed the glass, drew ...
