Synesthetic You

Synesthetic You
for Tammy

-- Big Frank Dickinson

The image of your touch is
A girl in pigtails running toward swings.

The sound of your skin is a gentle wind
Playing with cattails on a prairie pond.

Your breath is of a time
Long gone yet still to come.

Your voice carries the fragrance
Some pealed peaches pushing my tongue.

And the taste of your heart is
The siren song gone long.

I Got Here As Soon As I Could

Got Here as Soon as I Could
--- Big Frank Dickinson

"I wasn't born here, but I got here as soon as I could." ~ Bumper Sticker


I wasn’t born here – I was born there;
And few there rushed to get there
Because there is North Dakota.
Those who came, came slow;
My great grandparents took a ship
From Odessa and arrived in their forties.
Maybe that was as soon as they could.
My other forebears did it in stages
New York, Wisconsin, Minnesota, and then – at last - NoDak,
With trunk stickers that no doubt said:
“I took my own sweet time getting here.”
I myself got to a lot of places as soon as I could:
Arizona at the age of 19;
Minnesota (moving backwards as far as my ancestors are concerned) at 24;
Budapest (busting through the iron curtain) at 29;
Poland at 30;
Then as soon as I could in succession to
New York, Japan, Texas, Singapore, and Washington.
But it wasn’t really as fast as I could,
It was rather when it seemed right.
I also left those places – when it seemed right.
Nobody has a bumper sticker that says:
“I left here as soon as I could”
Because that would indicate that you
Were still here, making it a lie.
“I got out of there as soon as I could”
Would leave everyone wondering where is there.
I might be here to stay, where I am now,
But I still wouldn’t say;
“Got here as soon as I could”
Because
I didn’t.

If You Lived Here You'd Be Home Now

Big Frank thinks that bumper stickers can be poetic inspiration. Why not? Epigraphs are very popular these days. They are often quotations from well-known poets, philosophers, or popular songs. Why not bumper stickers - that's what Big Frank says.

You'd Be Home Now
-- Big Frank Dickinson

"If you lived here you'd be home now." ~ Bumper Sticker

Inside this car is a face, impassive and moving fast,
Flashing by you–
Solitary in his aluminum bubble;
Going somewhere unremarkable
That is reflected in the blah look that
This journey has evoked in his face.
Yes, this is a traveler, but the journey is so routine
That from the look on his face he
Could as well be walking down the hall at work
On the way to the restroom, the conference room, or to
His own drab workstation. Where is he really going?
To the grocery store to buy toilet paper, to church to buy
Redemption, or to meet someone who is impassively
Moving through space very fast to meet him.
No doubt, the composed face is being bathed in its
Own favorite music, warmed or cooled to the exact
Temperature selected, and perhaps communicating
Via phone or text with another impassive traveler who
Has entered also this pause of speed on rubber wheels
As he zips onward toward what comes next,
For it is what comes next that has set this person
Zipping along, wrapped in chosen noise, or . . .
Perhaps with the radio off bathed in thoughts – traffic
Meditation – silence of the many nows passing
By unnoticed while the many thens are watched.
You watch him pass you over and over and over again.
He watches you also . . . only in passing.
You do not wave or smile as you would if
You passed on horseback, or a bike.
Your windshield and his could as well be opaque;
You take no notice, and when you do and
You catch his eye you look away -
Quickly, almost like he had caught you
Peeking in his window at home, for
He is at home in his favorite wheeled lounger;
If you lived here you would be home now too.

Laughter and Love

Loving Laughter
-- Big Frank Dickinson

True understanding leads to laughter
Someone said, with thoughts of a mutually gotten joke.
She laughs at my jokes and I feel understood,
And I laugh at hers. But when she laughs at me
I sometimes have to step outside of myself
In order to see myself as she does when she laughs.
Sometimes it’s only the expression on my face;
Contrite perhaps when mockingly criticized,
Pressed together lips smacking with concentration,
Or (strange habit) tongue pushing out on my cheek
As I strain at some trivial task – she laughs,
And I, unaware of my presentation to her, ask:
“What’s so funny?” Then she tells me, and
I then not only see myself (through her eyes),
But I see her reaction to how I express myself writ small;
The tiny exclamation points (tongue pressing into my cheek),
The question marks of raised eyebrows silently befuddled,
Or the ellipsis of the markedly blank look waiting for understanding.
This laugh is the sign of her close attention to my face,
And her code breaking efforts that erupt in laughter as she understands.
The funny exchange; the love of close attention;
The attention of closeness writ bold with laughter, the reasons
As inexplicable as the reasons for loving one another.