Perched on the end of faded green roughened seesaw.
Roughened by sand poured over the board.
I went up and down, then suddenly stopped.
Stopped in midflight by a girl child turned woman.
She said, “Here I am!” with her eyes.
She made the sand feel solid.
Through the enchanted forest of postcards I project frames to each picture of time and space. I can control what I do with time: most of the time. But what about an afternoon of road construction delays? Or, I’m waiting in line at the grocery store and the cashier says, “Price check!” Or, I’m waiting…
What is fame to you? How would you know if you were famous? What would that do for you personally, if you were famous? What would it represent? Mean? How big an area would you have to be famous in to be satisfied? Does the itch to be famous ever stop, have boundaries, or just…
If I write about cavemen, do I need to go to a library? Or can I just say the caveman’s first two words? Fire. Wheel.
How to Measure Life is measured by a watch and a ruler. By the way, what time is it?
I always lie when I tell snow stories. You say you walked to school as a kid in two feet of snow. I say I walked in three feet of snow. Not only that–it was 20 degrees below zero. There were no bathrooms in sight, a lot of people around. I was pee-shy.
When the blister wants to come out, there’s no stopping it. Walk too much–the blister can come out. Use your hands a lot–the blister will come out. “Me, Blister, I will travel.” Sit down a lot and see what happens. The end.
“Girl-child turned woman”–this is the phrase the poem turns on. All your images show the awakening of sexuality within the context of innocence. “She made the sand feel solid” is a moment of awakening.