Issue 6:
Wish
Janet I. Buck
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Aerobic Dreams
I feel my heartbeat
pulsing in the coming mist.
Your home, in my dizzy head
these long, long days, a cold
robe in a hot dryer.
A scrapbook full of tulip bulbs
that play their horns in openness.
A back rub for arthritic joints
of practiced silence firm as tombs.
What's it like to eat a meal
without the rites of whiskey breath
souring the setting sun?
What's it like to squeeze
an honest lemon's angst,
not spray it in a closet wound?
This bowl of oatmeal
on my tongue is growing
stalks of wheat and corn.
I see them in the miles to cross.
I'm planning tons of little things.
A stack of dirty dishes sit.
You will wash and I will dry.
A load of laundry in a pile.
You will toss and I will fold.
Stanzas bear the salt and sweat.
Time is static on my clothes
I water down with busyness.
Dreams are such aerobic things.
My pores expanding like a rose.
~Janet I. Buck
Janet teaches writing and literature at the college level. Her poetry appears in hundreds of publications online and in print. Visit her website for information on her CDs, books, readings, and appearances. Email.
© 2001 by Janet I. Buck. All Rights Reserved.
© 2000-2002 by Cayuse Press. All Rights Reserved.
This page updated April 24, 2002.