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Click hereI sat in that antiseptic hallway with closed eyes
looking up at the possibilities.
Mrs. White shuffled by me,
touching my colored construction paper
it occurred to me that my task at hand
is never what it seems
it’s larger than a paper picture
so I closed my eyes and imagined
if I were inside these walls
if I had these physical boundaries every day
if I had no beauty to feed my spirit
what would I want to see?
I sat in that antiseptic hallway with closed eyes
looking up at the possibilities.
Mr. Frailix staggered by me
clutching the sleeve of his lost arm
as he asked me again
when I was going to bring him lunch
“I’ll be feeding your spirit in just a minute, Mr. Frailix.”
He told me he’d rather have soup.
So I closed my eyes and imagined
If I’d rather have soup than beauty
if I had nothing to put in my cup but water
if I only had physical sustenance to feed me
what would I want to see?
I sat in that antiseptic hallway with closed eyes
looking up at the possibilities.
Mrs. Snyder rolled by me
incoherent, when yesterday
she’d been more vibrant than I
A fall changes you at that age
So, I closed my eyes and imagined
if I lost myself where would I look
if I couldn’t remember beauty who would remind me
if I was without comfort
what would I want to see?
I sat in that antiseptic hallway and opened my eyes
to the possibilities.
My brain skimmed over imagery
Tossing ideas back and forth
shelving some for later
until the spirit within me
found the perfect thing.
I closed my eyes and imagined
spacious skies, waves of grain
purple mountain majesty
and I created what I could see
I sat in that antiseptic hallway and opened my eyes
to the possibilities.
Mr. Lempassis rolled by me
his voice a full baritone
shocking in its intensity
he sang what I’d seen
in paper bits in front of me
and I wondered what I’d imagine
if I were he, instead of me
if my spirit would be free
if I could live in a moment of imagery
I sat in that antiseptic hall
and imagined the possibilities.
This is the kind of poem that's like homemade soup--it stays warm inside you for a long time--real and satisfying.
says it all. there is a weaving quality that i see. but when the eyes are closed, there is a sub-conscious feel to it even though it is a state of darkness. but then the eyes open and the imagery is brought to light and the images become concrete. wonderfully written perks.
for feeding my soul this morning and making me wonder too. wonderful work, perks, shows your heart wide open and kind, a beauteous thing :)
...comes alive in this poem. Souls need feeding as much as bodies or they shrivel up in the same way for lack of nourishment. It's good there are people around like perks who acknowledge this. There are some souls out there healthier for it.
and cohesive, too. You made me see through your eyes. You did. That's a rare gift, ducky. :)
...i've never seen them, don't need to either, they hold great beauty to even bring to light what this poem did. a favorite of the day for me.
"I?ll be feeding your spirit in just a minute, Mr. Frailix.?
He told me he?d rather have soup."
this is an amazingly intuitive, insightful poem. The woman in this poem is cut from a rare/special stone. Not afraid to see what she sees. love it.