#467 Well.
It seems that the poetry phase, which was supposed to have been over possibly a month or two ago, is still at work. Non-epic free verse, also known as the abominable prose-poem.
-
Inside Magic
How can I wow you?
Didn't I say "yes"
because you had the
knack in college
to wow yourself?
She has one, two, eighteen large curlers in her hair
and she is having difficulty remembering which way
to insert the bread into the toaster; she cringes
and smiles at the same time:
Remember? You had
that cute little magic trick
where you make the
flowers appear out of
nowhere?
Yeah, that was cute.
The trick had been explained to her several times;
it was one I had learned from my father before
he moved off and died in Florida. The illusion of
it, the disillusionment of showing how it works,
I remember the feeling I got when he showed me,
like he had let me into his heart somehow,
and I remember how she said, show me it again,
how her eyes dazzled every single time;
a simple trick, I know, I had apologized,
and she had said,
How do you do that? for the third time.
"How do you do that?" meant less about the trick
and more about the wow, how did this cheap trick
have the ability to make her heart leap every time
those cheap plastic carnations flicked into view -
she always blinked at the crucial moment -
Dishes are piled in the sink; the trash hasn't
been taken out, and the floor is cluttered with toys;
She finally got her Bare Minerals makeup kit
in the mail this morning, and we are going
out to dinner tonight:
All things here must, and always do, disappear.
I bet you can wow
yourself ten times
better than I'd ever
be able to wow you.
Then she shook her hair out of those curlers,
and those magical red kinks poured out;
I held my heart in place with my hand so it wouldn't
drop into my pants. I had always wanted to know,
for these nine years, how she was still able to do that.
I couldn't tell you
how it happens -
this shade of red.
Ma used to say
the sun kisses it.
I think the kitchen
sun does it.
-
Inside Magic
How can I wow you?
Didn't I say "yes"
because you had the
knack in college
to wow yourself?
She has one, two, eighteen large curlers in her hair
and she is having difficulty remembering which way
to insert the bread into the toaster; she cringes
and smiles at the same time:
Remember? You had
that cute little magic trick
where you make the
flowers appear out of
nowhere?
Yeah, that was cute.
The trick had been explained to her several times;
it was one I had learned from my father before
he moved off and died in Florida. The illusion of
it, the disillusionment of showing how it works,
I remember the feeling I got when he showed me,
like he had let me into his heart somehow,
and I remember how she said, show me it again,
how her eyes dazzled every single time;
a simple trick, I know, I had apologized,
and she had said,
How do you do that? for the third time.
"How do you do that?" meant less about the trick
and more about the wow, how did this cheap trick
have the ability to make her heart leap every time
those cheap plastic carnations flicked into view -
she always blinked at the crucial moment -
Dishes are piled in the sink; the trash hasn't
been taken out, and the floor is cluttered with toys;
She finally got her Bare Minerals makeup kit
in the mail this morning, and we are going
out to dinner tonight:
All things here must, and always do, disappear.
I bet you can wow
yourself ten times
better than I'd ever
be able to wow you.
Then she shook her hair out of those curlers,
and those magical red kinks poured out;
I held my heart in place with my hand so it wouldn't
drop into my pants. I had always wanted to know,
for these nine years, how she was still able to do that.
I couldn't tell you
how it happens -
this shade of red.
Ma used to say
the sun kisses it.
I think the kitchen
sun does it.