FELL SWOOP

 

 

FELL SWOOP

 

Tired at last of myself, 

the way I’ve been for seventy years—

tight and worried, wanting my perfect way—

in a swoop—and was it fell?—I laughed. 

Laughed at the coiled clay vase that wanted 

to be a fish, laughed at the poems 

that wouldn’t be printed in little magazines 

and at my past earnestness 

about the importance of that, laughed 

at my belief that those pants would

make me leggy like the model in the catalogue, 

that this diet or pill or “spiritual practice” 

would fix my — everything. 

And last night I split a bottle of Switchback

with Jean and we laughed at our husbands’ old jokes 

during what would once have been 

a nervous attempt at “dinner party” 

and we made spontaneous 

ice cream sandwiches for dessert 

from crispy brownies and ice cream 

straight from the carton, and I’m still laughing.

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3 comments on “FELL SWOOP

  1. Maggie says:

    Perfect. Just … Perfect. ❤️☮️❤️

  2. Christine Lee Moore says:

    Not only did it WANT to be a fish, it BECAME a fish – an angler type unless my eyes deceive me. Keep laughing! Even if it isn’t in (my version of the phrase) one swell foop!

  3. inlandsea7@gmail.com says:

    oh nice poem and oh so nice everything

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