THE WOMAN WHO BELIEVES SHE IS LIKE A GIANT REDWOOD TREE

Sand publications, Garden Grove, CA

Copyright 1996 by Jane Stilwell
Printed in the United States of America
All Rights Reserved


MAGIC

Well, I said this pencil was magic, did I not?

It is. It can move so smoothly almost without my Thinking. Kind of like riding a bicycle or making love in the dark, it just happens, and later when You're lying there next to each other, you and your lover, you and your bicycle, you and your Poem, feeling good, wondering at what happened, a little pleased and self-conscious at how Uninhibited you got. And a little smile as if to say, I didn't know I was so good, I didn't know You were so good, but I really did know. We were good the last time we did this, some different. Next time we'll be some different again. I'm so pleased and content and smug, I ride this bicycle Across America. See the Grand Canyon, the Grand Tetons, the Grand Old Opry, Grand Central Station, Grand Hotel and Grant's Tomb across my handlebars. I hear the gears click, the crickets, The silence of night at a desert rest stop, the trains, the planes, my breath comes hard and fast and Deep out on the road or making words or love I never made before. I smell the desert in May, Taste fresh fruit at roadside stands, cherries, berries, pomegranates, pears, apples, grapes, smell Their bouquets. I feel my muscles sore from the bicycling. I feel delight that I know what I know, I am who I am, my pencil moves mysterious and sure and soft and slow and surprising me, Rising to moments like a lover in the night who is not tired, but will be soon.

Tomorrow is already.