i wonder where you are, i wonder if you think about me, once upon a time in your wildest dreams, moody blues 1986, he sent her the song on a cassette in the mail, like a message in a bottle, old & scraped, washed up, on her shore, no one listens to the moody blues anymore, she replied on a postcard, but thanks, 10 years had passed, he never wrote her again
i can’t see you, but you can see me, i’ve heard about bells and wings and things, hollywood movie, it’s a wonderful life, yes, of course it is, but are we all alone here? we mortals, plodding through the daily grind, doubtful, that you don’t exist, you do, sometimes we see you, in dreams, in our mind’s eye, or, as one might call it, our third eye, perhaps this sounds like new age mumbo jumbo, such a strange expression, but i’m on a tangent, back to you, entity of the spirit, soul, subconscious force of good, surrounding us, escorting us after passing, where do you take us? you are so many things to so many people, how do we come to know you? through prayer? meditation? faith? or just belief? are you christian? or does all that specific religion stuff not matter? if you answer me, how does that work? i’ve seen you in children’s books, watching over the sick, guiding people to be better, are you light? or just love? can any of us be angels, if we care enough?
first, the obvious, if you know my taste in music, and many don’t, adele? probably not, but kids change you, like how my sister got my dad listening to the indigo girls, my daughter loves adele, she listened to hello many, many times, it took me several days to understand the lyrics, paddle to the other side, canoeing on my brain, it is a thing, but there is something magical about riding in a car with a teenager, on the road conversation, meaningful, but no eye contact, music in the background, enter adele, her voice pulsating through the radio, let me photograph you in this light, in case it is the last time, that we might be exactly like we were, and there is it, soulful voice meets nostalgia, i’m hooked, and now i love adele, a true music story.
love before love, in the front yard with my telescope, 14 years old, pondering love, abstract love, not attached to anyone kind of love, pretend love, while looking at cratered moon, wondering if she is up there, or somewhere, U2 playing on my transistor radio, primordial longing for the one, hopeless romantic, summer night, movie scene in my head, where girl finds boy staring at stars, thinks, he is so deep, i love him.
held together by shreds of faded fabric, pages torn, inside inked December 1914, that cursive once on chalkboards all across america, found it in the trash where my father had placed it, rescued history, my hands cradling the past, how could you throw this away?, i thought, but never said a word, her poems carefully pasted next to drawings of men and women, little girls, dolls and dogs, lakes with sailboats, christmas greetings from the 20’s, dance cards, foxtrot, lindy hop, young love in pencil marks, pressed carnations, color long gone, diaspora of flower petals wedged into the treasure’s every crevice, army v. navy football ticket, pink powder puff once pressed on a face, my grandmother’s, her life still here, with me forever.
suffering, the buddhists say, because then we can accept what is, rather than grasping for what is not, gelato in late july, saying thank you and meaning it, crisp sparkling water, watching john travolta in grease, mother teresa, love, being of service, apologizing, peaches in early august, dusk, snow on pine trees, cold lake water, dancing to miriam makeba, sitting silently in a church, being grateful, making a snow angel, dreaming you can fly, deciding to be happy
Daniel W. Polk 