COURANT

with closed eyes, a bare-shouldered
young Victorian woman
and black gloves
holds the exploding champagne bottle
upside down

the next leg of your journey has been canceled

smells the foaming

am I waking?

I keep forgetting where I’ve been
(where I put this or that)

who said what
even me

on the horn: “the One who shall not be named”

keep trying to admit
where I am

the raised garden beds as love letters

how others perceive that negative side, especially,
certainly, toward me,

an ambulance with its lights flashing
at an intersection beside the Laundromat
is forced by congested traffic
to wait for the light to change

it’s Friday and I’m running late

Poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson
To see the full set of
Partitas, click here.

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