Muse and I : Trip

Grace Marie Grafton

I have ten minutes. I take the facsimile stars dressed in
imaginary blue robes, I write my letters big and tear them
alphabetically out of the page, we all climb aboard the infinity
barge, we're off to discover the black dog that guards the
blue stars, we've loaded our kitchen utensils, our gardening tools,
they're folded into the alphabet letters, I'm kind to them, the dog will be
kind to them even though they squeak about being limited when there's
so much space, they say, 'Here you are, the bosses of the infinity
barge which has no boundaries and you don't give us
room to roam?' We know they want to add, 'Shame, shame.'
but the engine's roar drowns out their lesser decibels. We
shoot for the planet we can see most clearly from the banks
of the lake that contains our childhood adventure that's
made of mixed sweat, skin cells, impulses, propulsions.
We know, it's the right place to start but the letters
don't understand, as we do, the energy engendered by
restriction. Space is the only place to let such seminal
force expand.


Grace Marie Grafton's newest book, LENS, poems to the art of California, will be published by Unsolicited Press, summer 2019. She is the author of six other books of poems. Her poems have won first prize in the Bellingham Review and the Keats Soul-Making contests. Recent poems appear in Sin Fronteras, Shotglass Journal, basalt, Nostos, Peacock Journal and others. She has taught thousands of children to write poetry through her work in CA Poets in the Schools.


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