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"Perhaps, Perhaps the Jet Lag is Luminescent"
by Cristy M.
Every scale of the fishtail
an empty block
cross-referenced with a
letter here a
letter there a
peeling like a lizard's skin
the white bees on the airport pavement
(the tarmac, the word haunting me
through Miami, Denver, Ontario
California--pay no
mind to it
and back again to the stage
on the street
in the festival
from a girl with a state's name
from a girl named Alaska
the word "tarmac"
like some insidious backdoor knocker
wanting in to this cerebe
as if a word that I've created
a baby wanting mother's milk
but mother's been jet-lagged
and napping
somewhere off 3,500
"three thousand five hundred"
miles away)
this is where I left off:
the white bees on the airport pavement
dancing in a weave,
staring hard enough I catch
their patterns.
Two hours left
nowhere but to do
than the airport smoking lounge
to have a cigarette.
12/10/2006 Author's Note: another one written in california.
Posted on 12/11/2006
Copyright © 2026 Cristy M.
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