by Kim Winter Mako

Come tool belt, wet mop
forklift and spatula.
Come nametag, ladder, hairnet and facemask,
shovel, whistle, ruler, and coal dust
Come sit

on the yellow line,
rim of the ditch, eye of the needle,
mouth of the mine, speckled linoleum,
alone at the wheel in the dark,
the bone-strewn floor of the slaughterhouse
Come sit

in earth’s mud.
Sit in lotus, knees splayed like grasshoppers
Close your eyes. Listen—for wild birds, trumpets, high winds,
and remember who you are
Come live
on my abundant blades of grass,
fruit trees, honey.

If you all sit down at once,
free of trans fats and flat screens,
corn syrup drips, super sizes, American pies—
if you sit down together, and like the grasshopper,
compounded eyes shining, mirrors of
ancient knowledge—transform into swarm
Spring up

in black mass and devour them:
crisp stacks of green bills, silk threaded neckties, prospectuses,
mortgages, 29.9 annual percentages
crackling under jaws
Just our Om would be heard as men’s castles disappeared.

Kim Winter Mako lived in New York City for many years as an actor. Her writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Sou’wester, The Nervous Breakdown, Prime Number, Ducts.org, The Great Smokies Review, and the anthology Drowning Allison and Other Stories (Grateful Steps Publishing 2012). Kim currently lives in Asheville with her husband, where she is a frequent contributor to the series; Listen to This: Stories in Performance. She is at work on a short story collection.