Caron Andregg - Two Poems

The house needs iron lungs
baked to the point of stroke 
its airways collapsed

Electric fans resuscitate the night
with seared-feather draughts
cactus-dry

Adrift in this desert
we've forgotten how to breathe
each other's air

An ocean breeze
crashes and breaks
against mountains far to the west

I dive for deep water
the mirage on your molten skin 
too hot to touch

You rise from between my thighs
sleek as a seal
your face wet

Air splashes time
against the wall of your chest
pressed like a shell to my ear

Through the night a black fan
turns and turns
and it sounds just like the sea.

The last one up wakes 
to find the eggs already laid
tiptoes on sleepy feet
toward the swordplay of silverware
the quiet clash of knife on plate, wedding china 
in a compromise pattern, already chipped.

Day breaks, conversation strains
floats in disconnected storm cells
above the breakfast table
fragile and transparent as Steuben glass
sputters to a stop among the yolk and shards
as we stumble from meal to meal.