It Was a Secret
by Steven McCabe
Giotto painted the stars bleeding out his fingertips.
Caroline Coon did a painting of Christine Keeler
As did Pauline Boty.
I fell into the world without a shaman
Somewhere the world is not yet what it will become.
I rented a tiny apartment next door to the girl in white shorts
whose brother, or maybe step-father, has a hook for a hand.
I wake to the sound of birds.
My mother worked near a famous intersection during the war –
music in the nightclubs vibrated echoes all night long.
Somebody said he remembered her –
in a flat boat gliding through the reeds.
Oak trees cast shadows across divided pools
designed in the curvilinear shapes of a Celtic eagle’s head –
I remember fish in deep water
I didn’t want to fall in –
going home from Eddie’s house.
Eddie spread catsup on white bread and smoothed it with a butter knife.
The architect said it was a secret.