Yesterday, a librarian reminded me of that.
I dedicate this scrap from my poem "The Museum of Coincidence" to that librarian and all librarians, including those who work in museums.
I dedicate this scrap from my poem "The Museum of Coincidence" to that librarian and all librarians, including those who work in museums.
III.
I went seeking the bats of happiness.
For the longest time I found only air:
baskets filled with air
and stirrups that once might have
balanced a warrior, but now
only air.
A ceremonial vessel shaped like a rhinoceros
full of air
The birthday dress of a tiny daughter
with striped sleeves meaning happiness
full of air
And then I did find
the bats of happiness
in a little hallway leading to the stairs.
Not the same saucer
with red bats and peaches and a small boy,
but another dish of happiness,
five sorts of happiness,
although I remain reluctant to count my blessings.
And I found, too,
a magpie in a plum tree,
which is happiness up to the eyebrows.
If you want happiness beyond that
you may need a hat.
Or you may consider that the Tibetans
find the skull to be a well-made vessel
without any potter’s thumbprint in the clay.
It could be a tea cup
or you could mix paint in it
or you could put extra happiness in it
if it comes to that.
Lucky, you, with a well-made vessel close at hand.

Again, Blythe,
ReplyDeleteI must protest all
this noble and good
writing
you are doing.
'Tis not fair.
To those of us
Who failed several times
when taking
the test to get our
poetic license.
(It was the
parallel
parking
that got me.)
Mine is currently suspended: WUI.
ReplyDelete