Posted on 28 October 2009

At the end of the afternoon
With the final bits of winter light hitting
The plants on the green ladder
Which stands on a table
Next to all the bookshelves

I sit on the couch
And do a little vacuuming
And write this poem
Which is only for you

I would like you to imagine
Something impossible
Not a miracle
For today these seem
The bread and butter of reality
But something impossible
For instance imagine
That my mother is both calling
And not calling
That she talks to me about death
A thing we know nothing about

Now imagine all the girls of the world
Small, potential women
With violins and other musical instruments
They are practicing
Floating a little
The things around them

Imagine one of them growing up
To be the president of the United States
Imagine she is a Roman
But with an Audrey Hepburn nose
And a heart that swells like the ocean
With melting ice

Imagine her greatest struggles
That she leads the country into an impossible war
With no sword, no battalions of brave young men
Whose loyalty and love must never be questioned
No, she is alone
And watches the remaining light fall through the air
Full of planes and other machinery

But even this will pass
Eventually disappearing with the last history book
Macerated in the flood

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