Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Wireless Reception

One hour a day
I dial in
to the broadest band

That’s how the poem began
as I walked damp wet sand
crafting words
that spun
in swirling mists
of salt
and streaming sunlight

out of range and loving it
my 60 minutes
of wireless reception

Jessica Dofflemyer

 

but then…
nature time’s up
back at the car
I’m recording phrases
in my iPhone
trying to remember
the communication
I received
seaside

There are phone calls to return
appointments to keep
I plug in
and realize
my gift of words
are somewhere
wild
unkept
in the ether

I grasp air
dig deep in heart
give it a rest
knowing
there’s only so much time
what’s real surfaces

Hey
I got poetry
and the hiss of mushy ocean waves this morning

it’s OK if it’s not posted here
in fact
I encourage you, my friend
go out
and listen
find your own
then share it

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

Card Games, Prophesies and Sunday Afternoons

Before 9am, Jeb has taken me to a beach I’ve never been to in all of my 15 years on the island. Nothing like letting the next generation lead the way.Jessica Dofflemyer - all rights reserved

It’s an interesting Sunday. We pass through manicured lawns to remote coves. Talk about the Mayan prophesies of 2012 (kids at school are telling Jeb he’ll die in 3 months from a great flood).

Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reservedTake recycling to the transfer station.

Get home by 10:30 in time to go through a restore process on my iPhone while Jeb deals a game of Uno. It seems the magic carpet has now become host to family card games.

I’ve got a load of laundry in the washer and some dishes in the sink.

Jeb’s playing with our neighbor’s cat on the balcony, who has been dubbed “Agent 5” (a partner in some spy mission I am not privy to). Apparently, Agent 5 made a run for it, as Jeb describes some sort of typical, cat-like leap from great heights that landed Agent 5 deftly, but distant, from Jeb’s grasp.

iPhone says “sync is in progress” as Uno calls. Jessica Dofflemyer ~ all rights reserved

To be honest, I’m taking a look at that bottle of Patron and wondering if a weekend cocktail may be in my future.

It’s Sunday, 2011. Jeb’s seven, going on eight. We’re home with no big plan.

I try to soak in this day at 11:22am. Sync is complete. Daily Chronicle, chronicled.

Time, space and Mayan calendars. Laundry, Uno and Agent 5. These days will never come again.

Love, love, love it.

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

The Thrill

there are the dare devils
climbing cliff faces
walking tightropes
wrestling alligators
jumping from airplanes

I have no desire
to throw my body from great heights
no need to face mortality
through risking life and limb

but in the realms of the heart
that dangerous
vast space
of vibrantly pumping chambers
I dip more than a toe
in the rich life force waters

I keep diving in
to try

in early exploration days
I’d just part my chest like curtains
show every vulnerability
of my beating heart window
a few select men
I’d let them
reach in to hold it in their palms
just coursing with raw
and risking love

like some thrill seeker
that wants the rush
of the triple corkscrew roller coaster
I still seek the butterflies
to metamorphose
my mind

rattle me
to take the chance
that transparency and truth
will transform me
to a freedom
only found when we
stop
protecting

at the center
of gut and head
these hearts are delicate
though love’s resilient

through bruised
battered
broken
numb
eventually
I’m back to scaling
the dazzling
death-defying
(please give me little deaths)
terrain
of the heart

what is it
that compels me
to dare to be so scared
to face all fears
and feel?

these odysseys
may end
with greater vistas
but there’s no promise
it will be shared

maybe part of the thrill
is knowing
full well
where I may find myself

clinging to some slippery slope
heart pounding
head surrounded
in brightly colored butterflies
morphing

vision vast and new
I may well
be
alone
in this quest
breathless
but oh
so very much
alive

courtesy of apliniste