Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Think Pink

For the past several years, for my birthday, Eletra has sent me a copy of something called "Year at a Glance for Gemini" from her We'Moon datebook.  This year for Christmas she sent me the whole darn book.  As I was flipping from Sunday, January 18th to Monday, January 19th, I skipped over a page with a long poem.  I told myself I would go back later and read it, but then thought, "Who am I kidding.  I won't remember to go back and read that."  So I stopped.  And I read.  And now you shall read too.

What Are We Waiting For?

I bet there are forests who miss me.  Who wish I were
a squirrel in their trees or a supposedly mythical mermaid
in their ponds.  I bet there are kisses who wish I were
in them too, because they like my technique.  I bet
there are sunrays looking for me even now, not yet knowing
I've gone indoors.  There may also be songs wishing I'd turn them
on, and others who wish I were already dancing to them.
I wonder if there are dresses that wish I were wearing them,
instead of someone else, or left hanging on a hanger.
I bet there are houses that wish I were living in them,
maybe houses that I'll one day move in and dance through,
but not yet, I haven't even yet visited their towns,
and the houses shift and groan their tree trunks and wonder,
Why do I have to wait?
Cuz they want me, see.  Cuz it'll be that good.

And so I ask my future and all my possibilities and all
my impossible perfect fantastical dreams to call for me LOUD,
light road flares, use spot lights, catch me with a stage hook
and reel me in, bring me close.  Because if I want you
and you want me, I tell my future, what are we waiting for?
It's only ellipsis dividing us.
Let us blow them away like breadcrumbs. . .

I love to long for my future, and I love when
my future longs for me.  It feels as good as dancing
to the most kickass song, when my body predicts beats and breaks
and rhythm changes, when it's all tight and suave, like all I've
been waiting for is right here, and I'm drinkin' it down easy.

And really, when life's like that, when I'm drunk on dreams
and slippery with time, nothing can hold me back, not rules or
logic, and beauty breaks all boundaries.  I burst through the seams,
racing my bike down the streets, free in the world:
this wildly improbable.

-- Dawn Sperber

"Cuz they want me, see.  Cuz it'll be that good."  Awesome.  "Because if I want you and you want me, I tell my future, what are we waiting for?"  Double awesome.  "Drunk on dreams."  That's it right there.  I'm going to paint that one.

Speaking of none of that, here's number two:

It is impossible to photograph these buggers without getting a zillion reflections of me.

I had the idea today to take some of these wreath photos and turn them into Christmas cards.  Just not sure a zillion reflections of me would add a festive air to a holiday card.  Oh but dang it, the light bulb just went off:  I should have taken these pictures while wearing my pink and white santa hat.  At least that reflection would have fit the color scheme.

Since the wall the wreath is hanging on is white, that last picture is the most accurate depiction of its true colors.  But I like the look of the warmer ones.  Especially the middle one.

I haven't even begun to make a dent in the ball stash, so next up is ... hmmm ... maybe the brown and red wreath I wanted to make two years ago.  But first -- we paint.  Drunk on dreams.


  1. What a wonderful poem. Thanks for sharing. And I'm loving the wreaths, too!

  2. Thank you, Leslie! I totally would have missed that poem if I had "saved it for later."