We could see pods of whales this time, and
call it First Semester, and
go up where they trap humongous crabs and call it
Quarterly Exams, and
we could look straight down on the AlCan, and
tip a wing and wave at villagers, and
hoist up over mountains all the way to the Chukchi, and
call it Sociology and Cartography, and
we could land in knee-high fog on a lake I know, and
call it Ancient History, and
we could eat so much fresh fish we’d grow gills, and
call it Retro-Evolution, and
we could make a small fire and
let the gentle smoke make us tired, and
we could call it Elemental Physics, and
we could laugh a lot, and
we could sleep dreamily at night, and
the ka-trillion stars overhead
would cover us like a sparkling blanket
in this dark, and
we could call that True Astronomy, and
we could shed all the clanking armor
our cynicism has created, and
name its true genus: Self-sedation, and
we could remember who we were once,
in all goodness and wild instinct, and
we could be restored, and
we could forget
to have our usual ‘metro-induced amnesia,’ and
instead just be
Broken …
Broken –Open– By This Beauty Everywhere…
————–
Creative Commons for this version: ©2008, C.P. Estés, from manuscript La Pasionaria