FANZINE

_{Considering the verb to consider, [Emerson] reminds us that it comes from the Latin con-siderare, and thus carries the meaning of ‘to study or see with the stars’.  – Robert Macfarlane}

Consider the one-eyed owl. Consider the humble turnip. Consider the stile, now in rain, now in snow, now in summer haze. Consider the windswept plains. Consider the muddied welcome mat. Consider the lights on the harbor. Consider ice tumbling onto the beach. Consider the black cat in the window. Consider the cigarette by your heel. Consider the trash bin filled with bread. Consider guns in the pawn shop window. Consider knives, hammers. Consider the cold chisel rusting in the garage. Consider the abandoned house on the bare hill. Consider the hay bales. Consider cars behind wire-fencing. Consider the raccoon that lives there. Consider the walnut. Consider the almond Consider morning fog. Consider a humid sky. Consider the chipped bowl where oatmeal goes. Consider the stick rakishly worked. Consider your ruined feet. Consider your skin: once smooth and tight, now no longer. Consider the girl with perfect posture. Consider the swing on the porch, the broom, the step ladder. Consider the sink, your hands plunged into hot soapy water. Consider the harmonica by the path in the park. Consider the shoe hanging by a lace from a power line. Consider the rusted bin in the field behind the school house. Consider the falling fence. Consider the brush on the countertop. Consider the books in a pile by the bed. Consider rope, real rope. Consider a jar of coins. Consider Edmond Jabés (1912-1991). Consider the malicious greenbrier. Consider the bank statements. Consider the sock. Consider the wound, the scar, the bruise. Consider the school work book. Consider the notes made in pencil. Consider the measuring rod. Consider the stone. Consider the shells Consider the horns. Consider the feather. Consider the box of pens. Consider the broken chair beside the forsythia bush. Consider the red blanket in afternoon light. Consider the shower curtain. Consider the bathmat. Consider the rod. Consider the easel. Consider the pier. Consider the fishing lure. Consider the woman staring out to sea. Consider the map of Florida. Consider a god raised on a plank. Consider the cows in the field. Consider the silo. Consider the glass filled with beans. Consider the aloe plant burning from neglect on the kitchen counter. Consider the magazines piled neatly near the front door. Consider the baseball glove, the hockey helmet, the small football jersey. Consider the plastic sporting trophies. Consider the unread paperbacks. Consider the shirts folded, unfolded. Consider the shoes rarely worn. Consider the tire iron. (I can’t. It’s gone, stolen.) Consider the basket filled with mitts, hats. Consider the nails. Consider the weight set. Consider the boxing bag. Consider the shovel. Consider the rake. Consider the hacksaw. Consider the ridged jawbone of a deer. Consider the weight of a cicada. Consider the dirt-packed mason jar on a hill somewhere in Montana. Consider the decomposing tree limb by the garage. Consider the burnt leaves. Consider rain, time. Consider mud, creeks, the banks of a river at nightfall. Consider a boy delivering newspapers early Sunday morning. Consider distant cries of birds. Consider the harvest moon. Consider the stiff hill, the long steep climb. Consider the blue trumpet behind a bag filled with groceries. Consider coffee. Consider a ream of paper. Consider a chaos of work shifts. Consider a manual typewriter. Consider a lovely bra. Consider the old man above his tea. Consider a prosthetic leg. Consider a cairn. Consider dust to dust. Consider the ram. Consider the brass crown. Consider the weak flame at dusk. Consider clouds sagging with rain. Consider the dull trout. Consider the three-legged dog sleeping near the front door. (Let sleeping dogs dry.) Consider the letters held by vivid ribbon. Consider the apology scrawled in sharpie. Consider the dishes in the sink. Consider the firewood behind the garage. Consider the boxing gloves under the basement stairs. Consider the pin oak. Consider the sour hamper. Consider the madding crowd seen from a hotel balcony. Consider the metal-work embellishments of the fence around the neglected cemetery. Consider the footfall of the beast at midnight. Consider the saxophone in its worn case. Consider the desperate receipts for some unknown reason saved. Consider the low shush boats make at night.