Sliver of Serenity
Claire Scott
A suspended moment
when my computer works
my car works, my phone works
my washing machine works
my electric can opener works
and my neurons are sparking
like the fourth of July
remembering my neighbor’s name
and the current number of planets
Stop and savor I say
pause and pray to the god
of your choice, pick one, any one
maybe the one chain chewing Chiclets
after joining AA, hiding emergency
bottles of scotch in cirrus clouds
or the one whose message machine
says it is no longer taking messages
in English, French, or Mandarin
Or perhaps a prayer to a pastel angel
with wispy wings and a wonky halo
in desperate need of silver polish
or to the scraps of a saint, figments
of cloth and a few finger bones
resting in an ancient reliquary
your choice
just let me float a little longer
on this once-in-a-lifetime sliver of serenity
Ignoring knife’s long shadow on the wall
ignoring sirens and scrabbling termites
nibbling at the edges of my life
let me tuck this moment in my pocket
like a piece of caramel candy
for the days rats invade the cellar
or a tornado rips off the roof
or the ice cream store runs out
of Shangri-la Raspberry Sorbet
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