The White Room

The Book of Gods and Devils (1990)

The obvious is difficultTo prove. Many preferThe hidden. I did, too.I listened to the trees.

They had a secretWhich they were about toMake known to me—And then didn’t.

Summer came. Each treeOn my street had its ownScheherazade. My nightsWere a part of their wild

Storytelling. We wereEntering dark houses,Always more dark houses,Hushed and abandoned.

There was someone with eyes closedOn the upper floors.The fear of it, and the wonder,Kept me sleepless.

The truth is bald and cold,Said the womanWho always wore white.She didn’t leave her room.

The sun pointed to one or twoThings that had survivedThe long night intact.The simplest things,

Difficult in their obviousness.They made no noise.It was the kind of dayPeople described as “perfect.”

Gods disguising themselvesAs black hairpins, a hand-mirror,A comb with a tooth missing?No! That wasn’t it.

Just things as they are,Unblinking, lying muteIn that bright light—And the trees waiting for the night.

Scheherazade: This legendary Persian queen is best known as the storyteller of One Thousand and One Nights.