I pressed my mother against my warm cheek
In a geranium garden
Her perfume followed me into the soft steel glow
Where I sat with my poetry books for engineers,
Harmonious circles, obedient spheres,
To be lifted and carried by the thunder
I tickled a cyclone,
Ran my fingers through the Atlantic ocean
Threw myself at the blue but just couldn't reach it
Held sway by my gold umbilical
And my calm and crackly muse
Buzzing behind my head
My world, sweet old world,
Noiseless,
Faceless,
White-haired and aimless
Soft and without any shame
And it's one small step for me
There's a field on the other side of the moon
Of floating and wild suspended balloons
That escaped from every child's hands
My boneless fingers reach for the strings,
But they are quite elusive things -
I'm just an air-conditioned hat
And a toolbox full of pins
What do you need with gravity
When the man in the moon is winking at you,
A powdery finger pressed against his lips?
What do I need with gravity?
I got a can with a view and an air-conditioned hat
What a lovely little world
All tucked-up behind my
One small thumb
#napowrimo 2013 poem number 12
© Brendan Bonsack
April 2013