Shivering Litany Poem by Jack Otterberg

open your eyes.
it's dark here. nighttime. Neruda said the stars shiver,
so they're shivering here.
a "watch for deer" sign wags in the wind—.
it too is shivering.
which makes you shake.
you're donning a black jacket in the
frosty July air,
weather even rare for Canada.
the stars are quivering— give them a
coat.

what did you think would happen?
when the celestial skyscrapers
crumble to mush, the rooms in heaven are
too squished together.
a form of God's punishment.
you cannot avoid the earth's last breath,
the aching memories flooding your sight.
you do not want to remember your life—
you just want to see it with new eyes.

you said yes miss, I didn't think about that.
you said yes ma'am, I won't go to sleep just yet.
isn't that all you want?
somebody who alchemizes your flaws
into beautiful butterflies?
but it's too cold for butterflies.
they'd shiver to death.

open your eyes.
do you see shingled rooftops? the tvs
blaring news
into the ears of half-asleep women?
one of them will fall into you.
you're sure. but you don't know
how to love anymore. don't worry—
it'll come much more naturally
than this life.

this life in which we wonder how we're supposed to live.
slumping around at midnight, looking
dear to the moon who abandoned
God.

open your eyes. your
cell phone's throbbing. who's calling you?
it's the stars. they want a coat.

do not listen to them.
lock yourself in the woods,
crawl to an empty cabin
that looks like heaven.
cedar wood shivers on the walls.
silver moonlight
sheens the dusty floor.
somebody walks in through the
creaking screen door.
she's beautiful. her dark brown hair and
glowing blue eyes
are open to you when she sees you.
she doesn't ask why you're in her house.
she just lays next to you in bed,
and says
I've finally found the man who'd watch the
stars die with me.