how to lift off the ground
my fondest memories--
the back porch shrinking
the receding of cold white cement
the dryer door hinge singing
waving a startled goodbye
It takes a formula
--not hand clasping or
phosphorescent dust--
just a lifting of the brain
to the exact middle
of the skull
A momentary vertigo
a concentrated lightness
Or a strong sneeze
You feel it first in your arches
The promise of freed soles
a delightful itching
I loved the tops of telephone poles--
dancing three inches above them
I'd mimic the tightrope artists
whose feet still cling with that ludicrous
dread of density
Flying is a peaceful sport
no puddles of sweat, loss of breath
But courage is necessary
to keep all the impossibility from aching
No one told me to stop
I just realized it was not the wisest of pursuits
So I set about a planned forgetting
and then nothing mattered much
Lately that learned loss
floats back up
my soles have begun itching
the telephone wires
hang wrong-side up
from way down here
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