From the Archive: John Nyman (CAROUSEL 38)
For My African Violet
Between oscillation and explosion,
an iris undone, your graceful fall
a flick so swift unhinged
and floating: sinkable,
the thrust of piling up
and the flutter of a tip
of a feeler frenzied wanting.
Let’s sally down my list:
the measurable handshakes,
a close furrow (grin
to a parasite), chores,
a strong caress sent to a friend
like you, so in a bright time
I’ll blow further on.
• • •
Always look at me like that,
with styrofoam winters in your teeth,
a firecracker hidden in your eye,
a snake track on the tile. While I
grow fat off alphabet salad, be there
moulding a tableau into shape.
Be there while I’m wafting the decisions
that bulldozed the fire,
propping each objection up
like a spinning plate. Don’t be afraid
to bury yourself in sunshine.