I'm back from my travels and they're just beginning,
so I'll leave my suitcase on the floor like that. I'm feeling
ripple effects, finally becoming most like myself, this
totally different person. My own sunshine. My own
Clementine. A good witch, with activated
charcoal, memory cells all seeping into my gut
and all around me people are magic for real, making
humans out of their own cells or making me tea
or waking me up all wrapped and baroque in the middle
of a dream to shake my hand goodbye and tell me the weather
outside. Goodbye. Meanwhile the sky is faraway light blue,
a distant smoking father. Meanwhile March pauses, holding
still and making eyes at us. Pretending to be an Olympic
sprinter, waiting on the block. Pretending to be a ballet person
showing up early to put on eyelashes and sew the toe shoes.
A Broadway person, bouncing at the knees like that,
about to do a tune, with all the appropriate gestures.
Joanna, this is wonderful.
ReplyDeleteLOVE this poem. Also I love the way you see something, some detail or gathering of words that sparks a quickening, and you just turn slightly aside from what you're doing, jot down something magical, maybe between sips of tea, and then return to your life as if nothing had happened.
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ReplyDeleteThanks, Kim and Catherine. I love that that's your image of me, Catherine. The spark/quickening part sounds about right, but it only happens when it happens, for me. Sometimes things have to germinate . . .
ReplyDeleteI've come back three times. Love it.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Leslie!
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