Jody's Notes
I wasn't thinking what you think I was thinking of. I really wasn't. Honestly. People laugh at me when I tell them this. About this poem. (And about some other poems too.) But it's true. And it's not that I was thinking of what you think I'm thinking of subconsciously. That's a pretty silly hypothesis, really. Metaphorical coincidence: It happens, it really does. Especially when you make up images the way I do, follow their internal logic ruthlessly--without paying attention to anything else. People don't usually follow the internal logic of images. They do something else: they ask: So what's the author talking about really? And they have a really narrow set of allegorical options that they impose on an author when they ask questions like that.
The grope of something buried;
you blink, we kiss.
The bubble comes apart.
Bring a bit of dawn
in my hands; a gift.
The rooted wand
soft in darkness.
Even the walls are moist.
© 2002 Jody Azzouni