Monthly Archives: September 2010
Because We Are of the Same Mind
We do not talk much
about certain things.
Not that I would name
them here, either.
to let the lips be still
or find other ways for them
to amuse themselves.
But I eavesdrop on your
breath and there
I’ve thought to hear
the sound of aspen trees
on the ridge, or perhaps
autumnal sun and the slow
way it leans into the canyon,
or maybe crazy jazz angels
riffing it up. If I’ve heard
them, I’ve made them up. When
I listen, I only hear your breath
linking what hasn’t been said.
We exchange messages this way—
a whole language with no verbs,
no nouns, no determiners, just breath.
There is sunrise and moon
in the silence. We both hear
what no one else could guess.
After Listening to Barry Spacks’ Recurring Dream
It is almost always the same. Just
before the play begins, I realize
I do not know my lines. It’s
okay, I tell myself. It’s happened
before. You have always been fine.
But the audience keeps filing into chairs
and the red velvet curtains are about
to swing wide and reveal the unprepared
girl inside who stands alone center stage.
This is usually when I wake up. Perhaps tonight
I’ll have the dream in which I have studied
my lines for months, I have memorized
every gesture, all my staging, and everyone
else’s lines, too. Perhaps tonight
when the curtains open, I will be ready,
though the heart still flutters wildly
with nervousness. And the aisles
will be filled with red and orange roses
and before I deliver my lines perfectly,
I leap from the stage into a pile of rose petals
and decide to take a long nap instead.