Poem: “Letter to an Actress on an American Day”
“So how’d you join the circus?” I asked
As I settled into the bar stool next to you.
I see through your disguise.
We all wear them these days,
Enacting figures on the public stage.
You begin to tell me,
Just as the alliance sellers appear,
Money speaking many tongues;
Conversation cut short,
I am invited to ride a patriotic carpet,
Oriental and fine.
Next, a doppelganger sees through mine,
The masque I mean,
And I’m forced to leave,
Having no costume to wear.
Still there is time to think pleasantly of orchid water,
And the peaceful beatitude of cloudy, sunny days.
I find you again.
This time more in your element,
Floating on bird song,
Guitar strumming a soft, rare reaching.
We speak of Love’s geometries,
Diagrams of Fortune written in Palm print,
The power of touch, pink flamingos, and wind flowers.
I ask what it means to you
When unexpected connections unfurl,
Carpets unrolled upon grass,
What you do on the blustering days,
Days of ladders and mirrors, black cats and rain,
Busy days of the city,
No two moments quite alike,
When fire is unburning,
Ice cream still melting,
To the tune of the ticking
Of a clock immune
To the illusion of age.
I wonder if you are one in the same:
A corona, a halo, a light riding Dragon swallowing the Sun.
You laugh, “I listen to other people’s stories
As they dance the masquerade,”
A simple answer for an American day,
For an ancient day, for a day transcending time.
A marching band of two walk by, a red veil dancer,
A painter of chariots, a family of folk healers,
A kind man, and a simple man.
All journeys are up mountains.
I tip my glass to you, the conversation never better,
And a snake threads through the grass somewhere,
Somewhere far away.
