SPRIGS OF BINKY

Susan Smith Nash

 

 

A blanket is probably too warm and cuddly

Memories of the old plush bear, or the footed pajamas

 

Iíve got something to say to you

when life takes a breather

 

clear skies, brooding heart

 

the bruise I spy on my arm is low

and not a needle-dream

 

memory is not hallucination

hallucination is not memory

 

Itís all too solid, too respectable

that image I see in every mirror

 

Why peer out, eyes intent on mine?

Iím afraid to ask.My lips wonít form the words --

 

But donít forget Iíve got something to say to you

when life takes a breather Ė

 

We are alive, arenít we?

The air I breathe is as cold as morning fog

 

Ferns so wet we could drink them like iced mint juleps ---

our feelings soft like fuzz balls on a thrift-store cashmere sweater

 

I remember nights -- voices hushed behind closed doors

Crackling fires, warm rooms, pacifiers for lonely stretches of highway

 

Stretched out sleeping in the back seat

After looking at stars, Mars, clouds --

 

sleep my sweet

under sprigs of binkyÖ

 

September 7, 2003

Norman, Oklahoma