I've been getting these transmissions more often lately
as the calendar birds have increased their flock.
Once again I'm twelve, watching
the smoke rise over Detroit, a straight shot down Woodward Avenue,
or watching the pigeons bob around my feet as I walk
with my father to a ballgame.
The ghosts of San Antonio visit me, too,
those hardcore overdose days of foggy stupid wounded highs,
and then the waking from anesthesia
naked, raw and determined to make it stick.
Recovery is a jazz solo, it doesn't go strictly by the note.
You just follow the drummer's beat one by one.
Ah me. I've always felt things so intensely.
It's been a battle to get proximal to some calm center
that goes distal every time I'm about to flag it down.
God sent his little brainiac girl, short on charm,
long on Pinocchio nose, into the saw-toothed world like a cave bat.
I have flown exactly one more time than I have crashed,
and in these veering quicksilver reflections is an oyster eye wondering
whether I have done my dance well
now that the moves have been busted and the tune is winding down.
_______
Music: Harry Belafonte "Jump In The Line"
WOW! So good it sizzles like a Detroit summer. I swooned over God sending his girl "into the saw-toothed world like a cave bat". And, especially, "I have flown exactly one more time than I have crashed." Me, too. LOVED this poem. You do know how to use your words. Smiles.
ReplyDeleteAging comes with great insight, often revelation ... I loved this look into your "Shay of all Trades" past. Cheers.
ReplyDeleteThe calendar birds have increased their flock indeed. I love the way you made us see the memories Shay! There is so much wisdom of experience in this absolutely gorgeous poem. I can relate to the deep feelings and ponderings in it, and am mesmerized by so many of the lines, like I have flown exactly one more time than I have crashed. Simply amazing as your poetry always is my friend!
ReplyDeleteShay,
ReplyDeleteThese "veering quicksilver reflections" give voice to a woman whose spirit shines through these reflections, following "the drummer's beat one by one," vulnerable yet strong and full of courage because of she's God's "little brainiac girl." The genius of your words? They become a mirror to the reader, self-reflective, a mirror held up to the universal dance of life.
~Dora
Great poem. Love this whole section:
ReplyDelete"...into the saw-toothed world like a cave bat.
I have flown exactly one more time than I have crashed,
and in these veering quicksilver reflections is an oyster eye wondering
whether I have done my dance well
now that the moves have been busted and the tune is winding down."
"Calendar birds increased their flock" - "into the saw-toothed world" - "oyster-eye wondering": You play inside/outside the chords with the jagged notes of the solo, recovering somewhere beyond where the music ends. And this: "I have flown exactly one more time than I have crashed," Amazing.
ReplyDelete