Innertube
The hammerheaded cloud is en route to Choctaw Lake
and the island of your mind is inside a boy
idling, just straddle bodied across an innertube.
When your mind was younger,
it seemed as if all places were within reach
by a few minutes drive.
Distance was unfathomable those days.
She will not be dead when it happens;
just beyond driving.
Make no mistake, that cloud is on collision course.
And when this ruckus swells, when you see your mind fully
in the center of the storm,
your life will unfold to you like origami,
like a puzzle you always knew,
like the circuitous path of a fairy tale, you'll find
all tools brought will have their use.
The boy you are on the outside has a certain way of fronting
that says I am not aware of world weight.
You and he have honed that look,
wet that clay with tears, shaped with the slap of hands.
Somedays, you'd rather the tube burst,
so you could the whole lake down, on top of you.
But today, the hot black skin of the tube
and the cool dipping of your feet feels just alive enough.
You spin around and watch it not coming.
I wanted to tell you that it is strange to know the poet you happen to be reading so closely. I can often see what you picture and I usually hear your voice reading the poem in my head. Family schizophrenia?
ReplyDeleteWhich is funny to me because I don't know if you've ever heard me read my poetry. Have you? I didn't do many readings up at BYU-I, so I find that strange.
ReplyDeleteYou and I both picture the same sort of me probably sitting on pretty much the same lake. Probably Muskrat Lake.
Amen to that! In my AP English classes last semester, I actually had my students use pictures as a muse for creative writing. It really helped!
ReplyDeleteJames, come see my blog.
ReplyDelete