Maybe we can pack up your pain and put it on a plane and send it plunging into the pacific. Then years from now after the sea’s all dried up someone will discover it moss covered on the ocean floor and they’ll take a crowbar to the plane door and find a piece of you tucked away there.
And maybe they will handle this fragment of you like a lost artifact and place it under a magnifying glass and see something there we missed. There will be some molecule frozen onto a fraction of you that when analyzed just right reveals that the pain wasn’t pure but it wasn’t passive. And they’ll take it to a museum and build up glass all around it and say look— here is a piece of someone.
The man she saw was a fairy-tale. And though I never met him I heard his voice was like a bomb. And could send bass vibrations back centuries across time. Some say they hear his words. Booming in their ears at night. Rocking them to sleep in their beds.
We found her curled up under a blanket. Trying to fabricate freedom in the warmth of thick winter quilts. And she looked up at us— her body supine. And she told us everything was fine but that she
Needed a little more time.
I visited the exhibit in November last year. The plaque beneath it told that though they weren’t sure who the pain belonged to, they were sure it was someone with a good sense of humor.
This troubled me since what I was looking at behind those clean clear panes was a ball of fury. So I went to the museum’s library and found a book on it. And in the lines there I read that when seen through a jeweler's loupe the pain had cracks between which shimmered gems of recovery. There was a full color layout on page 40 which showed that indeed there was something there shining like a coin at the bottom of a wishing well.
“The amazing thing about time is that it always passes”
Someone is telling this to her but right now. She is looking across the Pacific and seeing only how vast it is. How the horizon seems so far away. She wants the ocean to drain.She wants time to be a rubber band. To bounce back so she can ride out Another life or
She wants time to be a ferris wheel. That doesn’t stop. Not even at the top But circles round and round forever. And she wants to bring a telescope on the ride
And focus it on the child carrying cotton candy. On the fair ride laughing with this man
And she is thinking all of this
Lying in bed
Being rocked to sleep
By his voice
Echoing across time.