Jennifer Dixey's Shared Poems

cascade of worry,
darkened, narrowed
horizon, nothing to be
given or done

[expect nothing,
let words spill,
accept that they will not
reach perfection
and that neither
will we]

expansiveness,
possibility of delight
around every corner,
words flow

our Spain was long
country drives, castle tours,
house stays, late arrivals,
kid-friendly restaurants,
early nights, endless walks,
the occasional stop
for shopping, daily
visits to museums, universities,
and churches, churches, churches
(I had seen the agonized Christ
die a thousand times by the end of it).

we did not see dancing
nor did we hear flamenco
nor attend any bullfights.

on the wall
above our bed
we have framed
three postcards
bought at a market
in Barcelona: a watercolor bullfighter,
cape flared, brown as dust, flanked by two
watercolor flamenco dancers,
their moving skirts
rendered in splashes
of wine-red and pink, fading into
empty paper spaces
the color of bone.

the stentorian.
the seeking visitor.
the gentle leader.
and me, introspective,
feeling quite out of place.
until it was my time to read;
at which point I first
wept, unable to continue,
then, later, spoke softly but
with humor, authority and maybe -
a little bit of grace. exhausted,
I returned home, shivering the whole way.
(where was the heat in that place?
or was I really shaking from
the unexpected relief of having
unburdened just a bit of my soul?)

in the long life of our
growing, on the way to this
state we call human, we learned
that if we could not walk it,
we did not need to know of it.

and so when we try
to conceive of distance,
metaphysical or physical,
it is all the same. we fail. thought
summons the lover from miles away,
the dear one long gone, to take
part in a present moment.
a disappearing distance.

how
is wrapped
in the art of dreaming,
conductive magic.
neurons and their secrets.
why
is as plain
as the smile on your face
as you wake.

I approach the pharmacy checkout,
in my hand a white bracelet
inscribed in big black letters, a red
cartoon heart beside them.
I found it in the toy section,
shelved with others in pink and blue
that said "so hot", "don't bother", "over it".
the girl ringing me up is young,
bubbly, her bright face,
olive skin, full eyebrows,
lilting accent marking her as
an immigrant; her
cheerfulness, too.

she asks me
about the bracelet, as if
she has never seen the cheap,
rubbery bracelets carried by
her own store. "what is it?"
I hold it up so she can see.
"I'm learning French, and I thought
it might be a nice reminder."
"oh!" she says, smiling, her dark brows
arching just a little higher. "me too!"
I tell her where I'm taking a class,
encourage her to come. she says,
"I'm learning on my own. I just sit
at the computer." a beat, then:

"my husband says I shouldn't do it,
I'll never use it, it's a waste of time,
but it's so beautiful, I want to learn it,
I hope someday I can travel to France ..."
all the words spill out in a tumble, and I
tell her not to listen to him, go ahead,
learn what you want to learn.

we chat a bit more, I give her some
tips for where to find cheap French
books, ways to practice, remind her
about the local course I'm taking.
when I go, I make sure to tell her
"bonsoir", the way my teacher
says it at the end of class, and when
she looks quizzically at me,
translate it for her.

walking away, I want to
run back to her. I want to say:
I wish you well, I wish you
a happiness
at least as great
as your dreams allow.
but I keep going,
my heart bursting with it
like the cartoon heart
on the bracelet, this wild sudden love
for youth, for hope, for horizons not yet narrowed
by time, by all the things people will tell her
she cannot do. and in the car
I tear the bracelet from its package,
stretch it over my too-big hand,
turn it so the words face upwards
and I can read them
through my tears.
"je t'aime."