Windchime by Tony Hoagland

                    Longleaf Pines at Red Dirt, Kisatchie National Forest

WINDCHIME

By Tony Hoagland

She goes out to hang the windchime 

in her nightie and her work boots. 

It’s six-thirty in the morning 

and she’s standing on the plastic ice chest 

tiptoe to reach the crossbeam of the porch, 

windchime in her left hand, 

hammer in her right, the nail 

gripped tight between her teeth 

but nothing happens next because 

she’s trying to figure out 

how to switch #1 with #3. 

She must have been standing in the kitchen, 

coffee in her hand, asleep, 

when she heard it—the wind blowing 

through the sound the windchime 

wasn’t making 

because it wasn’t there. 

No one, including me, especially anymore believes 

till death do us part, 

but I can see what I would miss in leaving— 

the way her ankles go into the work boots 

as she stands upon the ice chest; 

the problem scrunched into her forehead; 

the little kissable mouth 

with the nail in it.

“Windchime” copyright © 2003 by Tony Hoagland from What Narcissism Means to Me