Mistress of Make Pretend

Miniture alloys kiting me up up up
as white piano keys dress for the parade,
Look! My Jeans dancing with the red shirt,
and I, I look upon an empty apartment
come alive—do not ask, do not ask—
let go and spin as the record player blows the flute,
Let it be, Let it be… Look! My books
flying off the shelves like ninja stars
and my lamp bends to kiss my chair
and the stapler wags his tale—
Oh, and I sit amidst it all,
lifeless but not quite dead,
breathless, but not quite dead,
playing in the yellow wind.
Oh Mistress of Make Pretend
I bow to you, my saint, as I stroll
small as a fly on the edge of my lampshade,
Anna stands beside, traveling the world.
To the World Fair of 1919!
A giant round metal globe, fifty stories high,
in the middle of Flushing Meadow Park
Look! A television with sound, an airplane,
a helicopter? But Anna watches the married couple
with a silky yellow stroller covered in blue woven violets,
a baby boy giggling at the rocket-ships and fireworks
oh hold me Anna! Why did you leave me?
We saw turtles imprinted in the black cement,
How you loved turtles! We skated on the ice,
and didn’t you love the ice? We held hands,
your cotton red gloves! Damn you Anna!
I was just seventeen and you wanted to be led,
I was seventeen and did not know left from right,
and now I sit amidst my spoons giving hickies to forks,
the computer laughing at us all—
the blanket, a tent in my living room,
and I sit shivering inside that cold Igloo,
while the slow clock shines like the sun, ever slow…
ever slow . . . melting frozen memories.
The phone crawling round the floor like a worm,
and the Summer Storm banging on my windows!
The oak-red desk frowning—Oh Anna!
Didn’t we dream of riding top purple waves?
Didn’t we dream of making wild love on ocean rocks?
Didn’t you too, dream away the sick?
OurDreams… soaking in memories…

excellent, i felt apart of your written world while reading your poem.