Ode to a Circle

I’ve read Pablo Neruda’s Full Woman, Fleshly Apple, Hot Moon. What a lovely group metaltriskelionof poems! I couldn’t stop smiling. Last night a poem of my own woke me at 4 am. It’s only a collection of imagery I like just now. It isn’t finished yet, but the pictures it makes in my mind make me smile. So here you go, have a smile too…

Ode to a Circle

A hula hoop swirling on the arm of a saucy,
elfin, dreadlocks lady,
tie-dyed T and capris,
smiling to herself, strolls a sidewalk.
A hoop, eagle-feathered,
a jewel set into its web for a safe night’s sleep,
blessed by Spider Woman,
a wheel of medicine bisected with brilliant colors,
just where, dependent on which First Nation.
Tires spinning chrome to everywhere,
a ghostly white fan-face blowing me a good summer sleep,
the blue moon, her shimmering shawl made a lunar compass,
after the pontoon on Lake Carmi,
a pie of sweet razzleberry, pumpkin too,
the squared pleasure of a Shepherd’s pie,
Colornote app in the dark,
playing zero and one, as I one-finger type,
his mimic of my “ooh!” of pleasure,
eyes crinkled in humorous desire,
a ball of blue and white spinning in black,
rising over the moon’s dusty-miller gray,
our home seen for the first time
live through Armstrong’s helmet cam,
the spinning colors in a kaleidoscope
held to the sunlit window on my birthday,
candlelight spun shadows flicker on evening wall,
play hide-and-seek, rough divots in bark
from a woodpecker’s meal dot an old maple tree,
pussy willow puffs pushed flat on long stems,
black-brown eyes of susans wave in wind,
clock faces dripping Salvador Dali,
pom-pom’d head as I form and hurl snowballs,
laughing with my brother,
stars on my Grandma’s quilt,
glass and wooden knobs,
pretzel rings and cupcake tops,
spoons tapped on my Grandpa’s hip,
a fleshy breast held to an infant’s open mouth,
a nipple suspended on a man’s muscled chest,
a scarred seat, scuffed metal legs of a backless stool
nested under a workbench at day’s end,
three-bead black body of an ant, crawling peony,
juice squeezed from oranges,
a little boy finds his bellybutton,
tiny fingers push peas in his nose,
mostly gummy grins,
cranberries flaccid from stove heat, ooze tart juice,
ball candles lit beside a bronze Buddha,
zafu and zabuton scattered, waiting,
hand bells swung to carols and sleighs at the local farm,
hay scattered by little feet,
duck butts spike a lake, rings float away,
tipped back up, bills smack dripping greenery,
metallic light bulb-tops scrape the rod as I draw the shower curtain closed.
Even in death there’s no need to join,
we’re already in it, many hands held,
merry, this life-circle never ends,
just pick a start to appreciate.

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