this poem is not what you might think.
this poem will not adequately delve into my oft-imagined daydream of a boho-chic lifestyle, 60 years ago in the 60s, in the avant-garde garment district of new york city. in an ultra-modern industrial warehouse loft, dancing with my two-year-old daughter named something fantastical like avalon topanga or crescent arabella. working for a fashion magazine, staying up late, hanging out with twyla tharp. sometimes gritty, always evolving. never-ever caring what anyone else thinks. and the clothes – oh! the clothes.
this poem will not ease your mind about physical pain, but it might sympathize or empathize over specific emotional aches. this poem will not erase the envy that you’re feeling in your soul but aren’t quite willing to admit to anyone, especially yourself. this poem will not bridge the gap between feeling ultra-confident and alive one day, and then misunderstood and depleted of energy the next. this poem will not build a ladder to the moon so you can better understand your lunar cycles (that you’ve tried to grasp but failed, yet always firmly believed in).
this poem cannot comprehend the way machines and mechanisms actually work, though several members of your family might be willing to explain. this poem is not able to mend the rifts that had to happen but still feel painful, between you and those still-living-but-only-in-a-parallel-universe these days. this poem will mock other attempts you’ve made to rhyme and keep a steady tempo, because what comes directly from the heart is always best.
this poem cannot possibly deliver what everyone reading it might be seeking. but it can attempt to somehow connect its readers in an inexplicable bond, an exclusive club. what this poem might do is provide a landing space, a place to sit back and chill when everyday life makes you weary.
what do i wish this poem would do? help me link patterns and fit puzzle pieces. satisfy the unconscious and subconscious and conscious appeals i put on myself. strive to identify and explore unidentified and unexplored avenues. and maybe-just-maybe solve a few things that have been floating in the ether (or at least soften them in some small way).
what this poem will definitely do is state in black and white my current reveries and at that point hand them back to me, as they are mine to do with what i may.
[*disclaimer: this poem does not itself bear any responsibility whatsoever for the above ramblings]
tweet
