East of Baudelaire

Am I back there somewhere

Yesterday, all glue sticks and glitter,

Gym class and grammar?

My grandmother squinting at her fingers,

Sewing smiles on ragdolls.

I see a wavy girl,

Through my ancient window

Carrying an empty frame before her,

And I will dream of her all my life.

Does she carry it still,

A woman in her fifties framing her view?

All that is between me and the world

Is my skin, sometimes too thin

When I sleep in and you are still alive,

Talking in the kitchen and sipping coffee,

Bicycle-shaped shadows on the wall,

A paintbrush, smudged, and nails on the sill

All hinging on this and hinging on that.

Threads of gold and blue

Quilt across my life in Mom’s tight stitches

That embroider butterfly wings

On my first-day-of-school dress.

Scraped knees,

Hinges that bend so close to the earth

That I see life just as Dad showed me,

Skittering along on the way to work.

My head is heavy, dreaming of the girl

Framing her world

While the freckled arms of the one I loved

No longer circle me.

But Whitman and a western wind are at my back,

The scent of salt and sea on the air,

I'm setting sail for Cythera,

Steering just east of Baudelaire.

Will you come?

Reviews

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

wow. this cyclone of thoughts, memories, dreams, and fantasies was enthralling. it is a bit of a headspin in a good way. i stayed with the persona as her thoughts ran like a runaway train. the writing was sharp, the simple language worked and there was a good rhythm to the text. was bedazzled.

[Joli Dy]

What a lovely things to read this afternoon in the wake of a tough day. Your encouragement lifted me. Very grateful.

[Martiya Daman]

This poem beautifully captures nostalgia and longing, weaving vivid imagery of childhood, love, and loss with a reflective journey toward hope and self-discovery. Good job, Joli!

[Joli Dy]

Thank you so much. I am grateful for your feedback. You're very kind.

[Paul in the Buff]

I grew up living with my grandparents. I was a stupid kid. We rarely appreciate where we are when we're young; we're always in a hurry to get to the next day, to grow up, to be something more than just a stupid kid.

I wish I paid more attention.

But like a wavy girl through ancient windows, some memories still hang in there, even in these days when memories are difficult to track.

[Joli Dy]

We have our cameras and our words for time travel. I travel their halls more and more these days. Thank you, my darling friend.

[Paul in the Buff]

I have recipes and the memory that making good food is an expression of love. Feed the ones you love.

[Eilis]

Have you read Emily of New Moon? Your girl in the glass is very Emily Starr but also Anne Shirley. But the girl you describe here reminds me most of Emily. There’s a beautiful, wistful nostalgia here but also a sort of clarity of watching oneself move through stages of life while also carrying forward a longing for someone important who is missing.

I like how the girl and the woman are both here, moving forward together and both are honored in their way alongside the other meaningful women and the mark they have left on the speaker. It’s a lovely poem.

[Joli Dy]

Thank you. No, I've never read that. I'm looking it up. It's a pretty personal piece in a way that not everything I write is. You are so generous in your reviews, something that I'm not yet comfortable with. I get finger-tied. ;)

[Eilis]

Both characters were “friends” to me as a girl and young woman. I enjoy your poems so enjoy the process of ‘understanding’ them. It’s part of that pathological need I have that you defined as curiosity. I am much better at speaking to poetry than to people, if that makes sense. I hope my words are not overwhelming.

[Joli Dy]

Your words are welcome and appreciated, and you read with a penetrating eye and you reach out with gentle statements and questions. I know what I mean when I write something, but the moment I post, it is no longer mine alone. What you bring to it as you read is equally valid. Poetry is alive in that way. Even the author may read the work again years later and respond to it in new ways never intended initially.
That said, the moving through time of all characters is what I hoped to convey, and also that the speaker isn't in a season of certainty, but is leaning into hope anyway.