As expected, she remembered
What she meant to say. That movie –
The actress’s name and the color she wore;
How it meant something then.
It was too late to call and her eyelids
Were sticky with sleep, though her mind
Prickled with a sense of tulips unfolding,
Asphalt burning, waves ascending
Her grey vinyl siding
The earth seemed tiny to her,
And she a speck on it, an item
Of infinite minutia, and her thought,
The blue of that actress’s dress
Against a remarkable yellow
Chandeliered wig of curls –
Even more ephemeral, so much
Tinier than any thought, ever.
To foster some growth. The image would move
From her microcosm
To his – a synapse short-circuit
Across a small city
From sleepy brain to brain. That little thought
Would expand in itself, inhale
And balloon, become a much speckier
Speck. Not nearly an earthly
Feature that satellites
Could photograph from space, but
A bump, a thing, a bubble
Of electricity set out in the world
To glow a bit,
to ebb, to ash.
The exact location
Of each number to press to reach him.
Her immoveable eyes need not open.
She considers this – how the dial-tone buzz
Could disturb her, wake her too much.
She is caught in the panic of power,
Knowing that sharing, inspecting
A speck causes life to restart.
She wants this creation, this
Resuscitation. They will share it
And bring it to life. They will
Have it and pull it between them.
It is only color and movement,
Memory and mastery, but her body
Curls around her need for him
To know it. Blue dress. Yellow
Hair. The actress’s name.
Microscopic.
