Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

My Vision

Humor me with this verisimilar vision

He stands at the kitchen sink
jeans
no shirt
biceps flexing
above suds
intently
washing
my sinkful of dishes

the sponge moves methodically
clockwise
then counterclockwise
until the pots shine

is this a dream?

real
not real
maybe I’ll wake up
or not

for now
I’ll go along
with this gorgeous man at my stove top
making me lunch
clearing my dishes
then kneeling down
to wash my feet

I’ll say yes to the contents of all his bags
full of handy tools
homemade chocolate
fresh-picked fruit

let him trouble shoot
my outlet’s faulty wiring
and dance with me in the kitchen
all in the same afternoon

who’s authoring this story?
is it fact or fiction?

I did feel the warmth of those soap suds with my hands
heard his chuckle when my dance step squashed his toe
I saw the light go on when he ran that electrical test

maybe it doesn’t matter if my vision’s true or false

I’m smiling in this story
so absurdly beautiful
the awe
just keeps me laughing

 

 

 

 

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer · 2 Comments

To Grasp at Golden Flickers

last night’s dream seeps away
the moment my head shifts
and rolls from the pillow

there are only fragments
something about wings
we had them
not light and feathery
like storybook angels
but visceral and earthly
like a pterodactyl

these days
the golden door’s cracked open
and the light
leaks in and pervades
offering glints and flashes
that defy timelines
shift matter in space

now
I sense
a future
that I already knew
before

time’s triggered
in quick glimpses
in just the way his fingers curve, mid-air
suddenly
I remember what will be

some deep sensation
reverberates
disregarding time as line
past and future
collide within my cells
to all time
no time
every time
all things

there have been a few moments in this life
in my stint as human
in this century
when there has come a knowing
that mind can’t understand

I’m crazy here
trying to explain in words
an intelligence
I can only feel

perhaps what finds me here
is the same longing
that drives all the poets and seekers

we are drops of water
wanting nothing more than to meld back to the sea from which we came

somehow we know
and want to tell you

we were this source
we will be again
we are now
just forgetting
and remembering
all at once

in my world
it’s golden flickers
sparking
over second grade spelling words
through the laugh of the gecko on the wall
in a glance from the green eyes of my long-lost friend

to try to tell you
is like grasping at dust
illumined in sunlight
but if you’ve seen it too
maybe you’ll know
just what it is
that I cannot quite express

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

In the Fold

Last night
there was a true Bohemian at my table
three mugs of ginger tea
my two eyes watching
four hands folding
aerospace creases
for origami flight

“It’s a brand new design”
he says
then returns to whistling.
I know that tune
at first I think it must be
“Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah”
but it soon segues
to “When the Saints Go Marching In.”

How did the Bohemian Lover
end up at my dinner table
eating macaroni and cheese
with me
and my seven-year old?

He folds paper airplanes
with such intent
that they glide
like a feather
in perfect spiral corkscrews
leaving a child to gape
and ask
“How’d you do that?!”