I wonder what it’s like
To imagine the planet
Between the poles
In parcel-pigments and lines
Instead of watercolour hues;
See:
Picture books liked to tell me
That the ocean is blue
Would say this,
Then haul the shade off full-bodied
Into sadness
Honouring a collective agreement
I hadn’t realized I’d been born into
One-off odd day
My teacher broke a semantic sub-rule —
Dispensed with wearing her sleek black threads of joy,
Explaining in earnest dejection
Pink fabric was the colour of gloom
And over on stages
Here there everywhere
Poets get up to slam down a line
Painting psyches in green —
Making out of envy
Not a feeling but a sheen
But how are leaves ever left wanting
When they have sun and CO2?
See,
In every grade school acrostic
Feeling the lack of other adjectives
I would always toss “Unique”
Beside the next-next-to-last letter
Of my two-beat seven-count name
But I’ve got space dirt in my ears
Toenails from Planet QN-9.52
Not to mention dedication-remonstrations
From past lives
Scrawled into every cell and fold
Of my humanbody-suit
Where did this myth come from
That things floating free of time space history
Are possible, at all true
When every prismatic particle we ever breathe
Is fished out of the bargain bin
Quote-unquote-gently-used?
Which is to say:
I love every plain
and storied
part of you
.
May 17, 2021.
The 62nd episode of The Side B Anthology podcast.
An original poem by Janique EA Bruneau (Jea).
This poem is part of the jumble that has been stowed haphazardly in The Glove Compartment sub-anthology, as it doesn’t yet fit with another narrative.
If you feel so inclined, I would gladly welcome a comment below, or a tip.