O I say, these are not the parts and poems of the Body only, but of the Soul, O I say now these are the Soul!
~Walt Whitman “I Sing the Body Electric”
she is but
a body
of water
waning
waxing
pulsed by the moon’s own
slow and steady
respiration
outlined by human frame
she sits on blue velour
car seats
sewn with silver stars
her celestial throne
behind an idle wheel
traffic stalled
all of these vehicles
separate
on a two lane road
longing
just to move
soft heavy skies
full of river and sea
make a bed
for jagged bolts of
lightning
her motor hums
brake pedal releases
wheels roll
three full
revolutions
stop
above
staticky synapses
fire fleeting fingers
below
Aretha Franklin
sings the body electric
through the car stereo
Dr. Feelgood’s
live
at the Fillmore
hands hold an unmoving wheel
her skin rises to meet
sound
music traces spine
this driver’s form
the conduit
through which
all senses pass
the scent of moist salt air
mixed with exhaust
the crescendo celebration of love
vibrating through
speakers
bouncing on eardrums
rattling her heart
the silver blue
cracking flashes
of illumination
the sweet taste
of a destination
three hundred cars ahead
and the pull
that tidal draw
of a shoreline swoop
the feel of sands sucking
beneath soles
strong and fast
the deepest inhalation
she can dig her heels in
hold tight
or surrender
she is electrified in stalled out traffic
goose bumps and Aretha Franklin
spilling clouds and lunar tides
breathing
with the moon
I’ve been watching it build a bloom for weeks. The orchid on my shelf beside my shower. I’ve come daily to warm cascading water, where I shampoo and follow the evolution of round, white petals, swelling with promise.
And then one day, surprise! A delicate flower has unfurled, completely open to the world in full potential. Beautiful in its delicacy. Testament to certain destinies fulfilled.
For days after the opening, I’ll gaze to its arching profile, as it faces open air at the end of a long, thin stem. I’ve been smiling quietly to myself in a love for flowers. Intricate blossoms gracing days of rare occasion.
I thought I’d been looking. I really did. But yesterday evening I realized, I’ve only been partly seeing. My hand reached out to the orchid pot, giving no more than a quarter turn. Suddenly a new angle revealed. The flower faced me fully, revealing even more beauty than I had known was traced inside its feathered petals.
Ahh. How just the slightest tilt can show a whole new world.
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