Kansas Skylight

Dedicated with love to Wichita, Kansas, to pregnant women everywhere, and to my mom -

A snow-airy afternoon, to the south, slushy soot-smoke flutes by,

Like blindfolds, black-dazzling Roman City Hall -

A corruption of counselors clamor for a Caesarian exit.

The fire thieves truck skid-dodges Wyatt's Hotdogs, until, like those ugly sirens,

It fades from my swollen senses.

 

I am lying here, more beautiful than ever. I have some company -

Though not in the old sense.

 

Sedgwick County kids, awash with Wichitan heart, lollop lightly at first - 'fore

Tramping tulips to The Two Towers talk -

Tolkien terror-tots teem toward the English Dept. of WSU, past

Millipede; her metallic high-heals nowhere bound -

Static through midday's Camel smokestacks,

Swirling through the lunchtime massacre of the breeze.

Milli, the eyes and ears of this institution, listens, bored.

I dream of American Spirit. Using a rare, animal-shaped lighter, a zippopotamus -

I light my way.

Sometimes I skulk, polluted, it feels like I cannot breathe.

I am so scared for the unborn.

I am so scared for our world - so very scared of me.

I am facing north -

A Cessna Bobcat, spits, dips, and tricks the apartment satellites into shudders.

Wide silver smiles amidst tenement upon tenement. The Ronald Reagan rust -

Projects in monochrome pierce the low sky under Kansas heaven.

The high north-westerns, their coat-hanger spires,

Ten story love letters to amoral architecture,

Their blunt asphalt-peaked roofs sheltering the vested gentry,

The landlord lynchers, and Chelsea Elsie's purple harem.

 

Late winter-shriveled trees shroud smut peddlers,

Coughing and spluttering like b******s, their adenoids coke-crack to charcoal crystal.

Before, after cocktails at The Annex Bar,

This would have been an afternoon for Neapolitan sex.

The rain now comes in colors.

 

White striped Cadillac wheels, Chisholm Creek Bridge in wreck hour rush -

The feeling coming from my bones, says find a home, blurs out loud.

 

Baby girl, I always knew you would come to me -

I am all over the place, but not in the old sense. It is the best feeling.

Freezing winds howl around my skylight. I feel no pain -

 

I am jumping through the tall grass, along the Arkansas river.

 

Reviews

[The Twin Arenas]

The Kansas of my dreams is this. It's a pregnant woman, and all that implies. It's the sound and feel of a little stone stuck enough to roll just a little in the grip of a sneaker.
I'm glad I read this. It's the Kansas of my dreams.

[T. N. Hodges]

Quite beautiful. I've never been a pregnant woman, but living close to this location helps this poem speak almost directly to me. Thank you for sharing! I'm sad it took me so long to read this beautiful work!

[Mark]

So much going on. Some of it beyond my ken, like reading Ulysses, but the imagery is lovable.

[poetry-kiddo alienbaba]

The Cessna....something about the Cessna....for it is not.
just another supersonic metal-bus....at conventional mach4...
there is more than meets the eye

[Rosalind Gale]

All day, hiding from the sun -

[poetry-kiddo alienbaba]

in the old garage flat tyres and damp spirit

[Mary Gale]

Thank you my sweet wild child. I love you Rosie!
mom

[Rosalind Gale]

I will make you a cup of tea now! I love you -
Rosie
-xxxxxxxxxxx-

[Shmoke-Sifted Heftlande..]

ahhhh!!! I knew there was a reason I was re-visiting the "ice cream for crow" since last night

the observations and transformations here..."you hardly know a day goes by in the cardboard cutout sundown"

this poem is a womb unto itself; I'm just under the special radar of it's chill, calming breeze

I must admit though, I will probly not stop chuckling at zippopotamus for a long time :)

it would be cool to break it down analytically....but maybe I'll consolidate into three words then into some ubiquitous art-language-tattoo that stings the eyes into a submission of peace, but only in the mirror

like I said, ahhhhh; also--well done

[Rosalind Gale]

I love how you pop up like a gallery duck, sipped up gold from the sunny cup.
-x-

[Shmoke-Sifted Heftlander]

[heart]; I did a spoken word show you might be interested in..a couple hours of footage this evening :) we did an 8 and some odd page version of a cafe collab "ripple in the field of consciousness" to miles davis "in a silent way" thru the p.a. and we added some korg synth and theremin and hi-hat, etc.. (:

[Shmoke-Sifted Heftlander]

at the end we just kind of improv'd when I ran out of printed words

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Wow...this is very well done in terms of imagery and description. My grandmother came from Kansas, and reading this was almost like listening to one of her stories. Your depictions are gritty, real and raw, which makes them uniquely beautiful and bright. This was one of my favorite pieces that I've read today. Well done. No criticism here at all!

[New Dawn]

Ah the world travels on it's predictable route whilst you my friend live in bursts of technicolor - everything sharper - the fear and trepidation of an unseen future, all those people in their black and white world whilst yours is exploding with a rainbow of colour. Wonderful write as always Rosa and so great to read your words again x

[Rosalind Gale]

Thank you my dear Shelley -
-xxxx-

[eglantine]

I remember the title from a previous conversation we had, so that's awesome. The title left an impression :) I like the longer-lined structure, elludes to prose but sucks it back in to the next line. Last line isn't doing it for me. I understand what you are trying to imply, but is there a way to do it with an image? Thanks for sharing!

[Rosalind Gale]

Thank you my dear -
-x-

[Rosalind Gale]

-I decided to remove the last line for now, it seems unnecessary-

[Rosalind Gale]

... or just out of place. Thanks for your advice.
-xx-

[eglantine]

haha, your welcome :)

[Leslie Philibert]

This is very good, a poem about things that Rosalind brillantly understands, genuine thoughts packed into fine words, a super piece of work.

[Rosalind Gale]

Thanks Leslie -
-x-