|
Sitting in the basement on the
carpeted floor,
It’s quiet because the furnace
just kicked off;
Wintertime--you stare at a strange
shadow and a
Strip of warm light, there’s a
hazy blurry sound,
A mumbling rift. Maybe it’s the
T.V. on low upstairs.
You imagine the flickery blue and
whites across the room
With the light turned out. You
can’t make out the voices,
It sounds like your head when no
one’s around,
Then the voices stop.
I repose my posture--hands back
and shoulders
Supporting my neck like a scarf.
The new weight
Presses against the soft carpet in
a strange spot;
Crackly plastic--the carpet’s
underwear.
I picture someone I love, I see a
seashell;
The big one I had as a kid.
I come in close to her, my lover;
and put my ear
Up to hers like the shell.
I wonder if her thoughts might
echo and soothe me
Like the ocean did in my room.
She’s not there though and neither
is the shell.
Instead, just chilly little bumps
to remind me of the open space.
The silence reminds you of who you
are
With only still objects to inquire.
You can both fear and digress to
something distracting
Or stare at your ghost.
I stare at my ghost--I’m
inside--there’s a strange recall of
Dreams and real things that have
happened to me:
A red wagon and a Raggedy Ann near
a farm on a rocky road.
The wind breathes in and then a
line-dance of the corn
Along the road which rattles a
bit.
The farm is your grandfather’s and
your travel by foot
Is from there to old Effie’s. You
can see it just up ahead,
A forest of a place where only
memories of the inhabitants
Lie broken under board and nail.
There’s something special here
hidden in the shed--
An old steel wheeled green
tractor,
A treasure I’m taking Ann to see.
|
I slip through the rusty doors
chained mostly shut,
The sun is low enough to light up
the tall grass which Is peeking through the back shattered
wall.
This treasure is foreboding and filled with cobwebs;
The sun hits the dust covering that rusty green and
The ancient machine looks supernatural.
I turn from the tractor and back
into a deep shadow;
I see
the moon full.
Twisted roots and tree trunks
accompany me
As I admire the lake far below
Nervously painting
a lunar sky.
The light from the moon sees my
surroundings
In a beautiful blue grisaille;
Two painters and I in the middle;
A perfect breeze accompanies.
These visions blend one into the
other
As I question my motives.
Then the visions stop.
I shake my head like the corn but
my ghost
Stares back.
I see my lover dressed in green
and rust.
She’s standing over me
In steel-toed boots and her face
Is pale white against her bright red hair.
She’s telling me what I want again
like the moon and The treasures of childhood.
Like a clown at a birthday party
With his animal balloons.
The different sizes and shapes
Held together by one common
thing—trapped air!
I’m held together by trapped
memories,
A ghost who haunts and guides me;
Telling me who my friends and
lovers are--
Something that comforts and takes
the edge off:
Like soft soft skin
Like the sole of a shoe
Like the sound of a sea shell
Like the carpeted floor.
|