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.
I put my mind in a time bottle. Watch the particles of brain matter funnel down the sand trap called Time.
I eat, smell, inhale, and cling to the dirt. I am gardener, feel my grit.
Here’s Daniel Holland’s fanciful description of his writing process.–JGR I’m good at getting the hooks and baiting the hooks. I’m frustrated though, once my line is in the water. I don’t yet know how to play the line so I can get the bites and catch the fish. There’s my line in the water, dangling,…
VACUUM SUCKS You know those little things in the carpet that try to hide? When you vacuum “hide and seek” becomes “hide and suck.” If you have a cheap vacuum, vacuuming becomes a hockey game. The goalie is under the mat. The cheaper the vacuum, the bigger the mat. As a kid I used to…
Why do we scratch our heads when we can’t figure something out? Are we simply buying time? Signalling that we are clueless? Or, do we think we’ll shake our brains a bit, and the information we are looking for will fall out?
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.