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Joan Carlson
Poems
Apr 2017
Brainstorm
A butterfly's wing
swiped a vortex,
curling and invisible —
a teaspoon of late-morning air.
"You could do anything", she said.
Which stopped you cold.
Breaking through
to an innocent reverence.
Self-love once stunted
by too much water,
seized anchor in fertile ground.
Lifting, face to the sun,
rising cool and
untarnishable, impervious.
Amid unnumbered droplets,
time-rendered unreal.
Pattering away still,
the adoration of strangers
falls like background music.
What inspirations?
What purposes?
What outcomes?
A fuse — crackling, insistent,
alights.
To brainstorm,
to define
in pictured imaginings,
to sketch on napkins,
to conjure vapor heroes,
told in stories unfolded,
imagined to full flowering,
alive and enduring.
To expand, to compress,
and with a nod to urgency.
Facing that mortality of carbon,
these ideas — tumbled,
till only polished
diamonds quiver
with joyful futures.
The best puppies
of this litter,
you'll name and raise.
The rest, to worthy homes
carrying still your name.
.
Written by
Joan Carlson
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