The Norphan
I remember when the Norphan first came to stay.
None of us had ever seen a Norphan before.
Mr. Mondegreen suggested that we put it out,
but we didn’t. It was so small and helpless.
Instead we set it in a warm bath, where
it played happily while listening to
The Velvet Underground & Nico
on a small turntable placed atop the toilet.
Not knowing its language, we had to
communicate via hand signals and smiles.
Over time we discovered it liked broccoli
but not lima beans. (And who could blame it?)
On sunny days, the Norphan would sit in the yard
watching the butterflies flutter by as it sang
“Heroin” or “All Tomorrow’s Parties” —
without the words, of course. Just a high,
flutelike voice beautifully recreating the melodies.
Then one Tuesday morning, ’round about nine,
Mr. Mondegreen came in from the yard to say
that the Norphan was gone. Where it had been
sitting on the lawn there was a single yellow flower
of a kind none of us recognized. I thought I heard
the strains of “I’m Waiting For The Man” coming
from over the hill, but Mr. Mondegreen said
I was hearing with my heart, not my ears.
We never saw the Norphan again.
18 January 2013
Auburn, AL
/ / /
I can’t remember ever writing a poem like this. The phrase “a Norphan” is a mondegreen, hence the name of the character in the poem. I heard someone read a poem with the phrase “an orphan” in it, and I briefly misheard the words. The drawing at the top is also mine. I think you can see why I chose words rather than painting as my medium.
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