Ada Limon's Blog, page 2
April 29, 2015
Poem 24
Dream the Apocalypse #24
Come black ice, or avalanche,
I can't recall, some growing
doomed-up apocalyptic crawl.
Coven on the mountain's
circling the troops, and a fire's
been lit under everyone's throat.
Bears out there, buffalo,
all the big-eyed Animalia
tearing the night to slick shreds.
It's coming too fast, this
impending death, but I won't
go in the cave just yet.
I stand in the dirt under the oak's
sharp leaves and call your name
like a command, like a last word.
Come black ice, or avalanche,
I can't recall, some growing
doomed-up apocalyptic crawl.
Coven on the mountain's
circling the troops, and a fire's
been lit under everyone's throat.
Bears out there, buffalo,
all the big-eyed Animalia
tearing the night to slick shreds.
It's coming too fast, this
impending death, but I won't
go in the cave just yet.
I stand in the dirt under the oak's
sharp leaves and call your name
like a command, like a last word.
Poem 23
Dream Sequence #23
Slow destruction of firelight,
and the good vampires
were winning.
You'd called from a station
to tell me the night's folly
so I flew because I could.
I was acing algebra
which seemed so unlikely,
and marrying a ginger.
A store sold all
the matches to lost earrings
and it wasn't cheap
but there they were,
everything I'd forgotten displayed
brand new and tempting.
Slow destruction of firelight,
and the good vampires
were winning.
You'd called from a station
to tell me the night's folly
so I flew because I could.
I was acing algebra
which seemed so unlikely,
and marrying a ginger.
A store sold all
the matches to lost earrings
and it wasn't cheap
but there they were,
everything I'd forgotten displayed
brand new and tempting.
April 24, 2015
Poem 21
Dream of the Dream Killer #21
Whoa, space. An abandoned stage,
painted mixed-up circus tent colors,
opening into new rooms, rusted doors,
mildewed movie theater rug, and neon
tubing piling up like fluorescent eels
in the corner. Possibilities? Endless.
No one had told me this was here,
fine property stagnant off the Sonoma
plaza where I was raised. You could
make millions, dazzle the roaring crowds,
So, when John Tesh came waltzing in
like a puffed-up peacock pretending
to know its direction by fanning out, my heart
sank. He bought the whole thing in cash.
And the rich Christians get everything,
I thought, and went on folding t-shirts
in the box office like I was built to serve.
Whoa, space. An abandoned stage,
painted mixed-up circus tent colors,
opening into new rooms, rusted doors,
mildewed movie theater rug, and neon
tubing piling up like fluorescent eels
in the corner. Possibilities? Endless.
No one had told me this was here,
fine property stagnant off the Sonoma
plaza where I was raised. You could
make millions, dazzle the roaring crowds,
So, when John Tesh came waltzing in
like a puffed-up peacock pretending
to know its direction by fanning out, my heart
sank. He bought the whole thing in cash.
And the rich Christians get everything,
I thought, and went on folding t-shirts
in the box office like I was built to serve.
Poem 20
Dream the Last Meal #20
The star-crossed train was heading toward certain
disaster. Monstrous metal wheels sparked against
the black rails like a heart attack traveling up
the body's raging blood. I knew the man who
was trying to take us all down. A fellow good
samaritan pushed to the limit of life's hard knocks.
In the back of the loosening caboose, an open air
platform is where the Michels brothers: Luke & David,
were plotting their jump, but just before that, lunch.
Just in case the skidding fall left them skinless, they
decided to eat their baguettes avec beurre, avec wine.
I sat to join them; if life was going to end, first we dine.
The star-crossed train was heading toward certain
disaster. Monstrous metal wheels sparked against
the black rails like a heart attack traveling up
the body's raging blood. I knew the man who
was trying to take us all down. A fellow good
samaritan pushed to the limit of life's hard knocks.
In the back of the loosening caboose, an open air
platform is where the Michels brothers: Luke & David,
were plotting their jump, but just before that, lunch.
Just in case the skidding fall left them skinless, they
decided to eat their baguettes avec beurre, avec wine.
I sat to join them; if life was going to end, first we dine.
April 20, 2015
Poem 19
Dream of Matt Damon #19
I felt so bad that Matt Damon didn't remember
the wooden benches carved out of cherry and oak.
"Remember?" I said, "We called the larger bench,
Ben Afleck," and the smaller bench, "Matt Damon?"
He didn't. But he still seemed amused. I was heavier
than he remembered, but he hugged me hard,
and said he still thought I was pretty. He even said
my curves, like the stained wood, had improved
with age, as he swung me above the benches
and we tried hard to forgive ourselves for what we'd done.
I felt so bad that Matt Damon didn't remember
the wooden benches carved out of cherry and oak.
"Remember?" I said, "We called the larger bench,
Ben Afleck," and the smaller bench, "Matt Damon?"
He didn't. But he still seemed amused. I was heavier
than he remembered, but he hugged me hard,
and said he still thought I was pretty. He even said
my curves, like the stained wood, had improved
with age, as he swung me above the benches
and we tried hard to forgive ourselves for what we'd done.
April 18, 2015
Poem 18
Dream the Eel Slayer #18
Peering over the railing of the pier jutting
into the plummeting ocean deep, you decide
it's finally time to catch me the largest eel
in honor of the enormity of your love. Mouths
mum, we watch the sea animals churn up
the water into a dangerous frothy swirl
of adjectives like hammerhead, electric, and killer.
A towhead kid dressed like Holden Caulfield,
comes back with a dragon he's caught, says
he knows the best inland fishing hole for dragons,
but it's mainly stocked and there's a weight limit
of how many scaled serpentines you can bring home.
This, to me, sounds safer. Do that, I urge,
just go catch a dragon, but you insist on sea
and just then a whale shark, large as a cruise ship,
glides by, its one giant yellow eye fixed on us
like ten-thousand suns, or just like he's asking,
kind of casually, "What's next?"
April 17, 2015
Poem 15 (make up from days ago)
Dream of the Carnal Tree #15
It wasn't the slow moan cum-cry
of the budding out tree that brought
me, branch-less myself, to lay
my body next to the bark, bare
naked in the glaring white light
so bright it could clean kill the flesh
unless you were dreaming. First,
I had to be moved to wanting,
each feathered floweret worked
their fleecy tongues over my torso
until the microscopic flora fondling
was almost too much and I took
the largest bough inside of me
like I was born to this cleaving.
Poem 17
Dream the Intoxicant #17
The lady fireman I knew from high school
had somehow figured out a way to date
herself and she seemed so terribly happy.
Her elbows on the bar touching her elbows.
They each had matching hats and when
the brims teetered close to touch, their
teeth blossomed into such high-wattage smiles
that it was impossible not to try to make
love to them both, not to desire everything
they had given up. Knox had decided
the only way love would last was to never
marry and buy a lot of vintage muscle cars
with her man who loved to light silent fires
in the mountain cabin. But, not surprisingly,
I had been diagnosed with a disease
that made icy blue crystals grow inside me,
like rock sugar, the color of Vick's Vapor Rub,
and the larger they grew, the easier it was to
shatter them into dust, so my new way
of moving was to go unnoticed by everything,
begging even the air not to touch me.
Poem 16
Dream the Wedding #16
Was it our wedding? Or someone else's? All I know was that I had the dog roaming off-leash in my father's garden behind the house off Arnold Drive that had grown exponentially in the years we'd been so long gone, and now it was more of a interconnected gold mining town something out of McCabe and Mrs. Miller, with Leonard Cohen singing all the while and the sun never coming out no matter how hard you wished it. I was wearing white and my hair was pulled back into a something that looked like a raven's wing. Even though C was dead, she was upset that I had rearranged the furniture into circles and she was kindly telling me that I had to clean up after the dog that had gone in the flower bed. I was picking it up in a white bag that matched my marrying dress and thought: Even on the best day of my life, there's still so much shit to clean up.
Was it our wedding? Or someone else's? All I know was that I had the dog roaming off-leash in my father's garden behind the house off Arnold Drive that had grown exponentially in the years we'd been so long gone, and now it was more of a interconnected gold mining town something out of McCabe and Mrs. Miller, with Leonard Cohen singing all the while and the sun never coming out no matter how hard you wished it. I was wearing white and my hair was pulled back into a something that looked like a raven's wing. Even though C was dead, she was upset that I had rearranged the furniture into circles and she was kindly telling me that I had to clean up after the dog that had gone in the flower bed. I was picking it up in a white bag that matched my marrying dress and thought: Even on the best day of my life, there's still so much shit to clean up.
