~A Circle of Two~

“Get out of your own way so the angels can fly through you.”

-Paul Vanderhoven

 

This poem is a séance

and I am its medium.

Come in spirit,

do you read me?

Rap twice for yes.

No need for no.

 

This is not

about the dead.

It’s about communing

with that which

makes life

worth living.

 

If nothing fully felt

ever really

passes away,

then why

shouldn’t it be

retrievable for

further parlay?

 

My first poem

was fashioned

out of simple

rope & cedar;

a go-cart made

from a child’s coffin,

its buggy wheels

pried off a pram,

the rope connecting

its front axial

were the reins

for gripping

in my hand

enabling me

to steer, as

childhood sped by

automatically

in first gear.

 

Each poem was

a polaroid

tucked in a book

for safe keeping,

a naked figure

in a window

not caring a hoot

who’s peeping.

 

If memories

could live apart

from the body,

then there’s

our proof

of having been.

So why not

offer them

sanctuary

by calling them

back again?

 

As in dreams

the soul defies

its coordinates;

a kite tugging

at a taut thread

in wind,

while between

madness and resolve

is as fine a line

as the space

between now

and again.

 

Think about it.

If a television can

so easily beam

people into a room,

how hard can it be

to coax a spirit

from its tomb?

As usual, an answer

lies in the lap

of our youth,

between two cans

and a heartstring;

a direct channel

to truth.

 

07/11/23