Ravel

I remember the smell

Of analog tape

As a child

The whirr of machines

The making

Of music

My Father telling me

With wonder

My eyes were so dark

You could never find

The middle

He would finish his work

I would sit in the unnatural quiet

Draw with my pencils

Dream

Relish

The quiet

It’s likely

I will never catch

That scent again

And my eyes

Have grown lighter

Interesting

As the darkness seem

To swell

A renaissance hopefully

On the horizon

The middle

Has become

A forgotten

Ferris wheel

A catastrophe

A place only

For racists

Xenophobes

And people who won’t

Choose a squad

Nearly everyone

Does nearly everything

Out of fear

That old greasy

Ridiculous phantom

Clattering

Clamoring and cunning

There is no room for sense

Or discourse

When all are frightened

When no one

Can find their own face

My face

Maybe past it’s prime

Maybe better than ever

Maybe

Who the fuck cares

The left side of my smile

Has more wrinkles

Than the right

Still

It seems the same to me

As it did

When I gazed into

My grandmother’s mirror

Ornate and overdone

The mirror I mean

My face

Has always been

Kind of a simple

Situation

I watch Loretta

And “Da”

Stay up too late

Giggling

Watching old movies

Weathering all this hampering weight

With the dignity of mirth

When did it happen to the world

When did the mighty run

When

Did we became so sanitary

So sedentary

So salacious

So scared

And who am I

Among the vipers and the sheep

The charlatans

And the crazy ones

Who’s capital crime

Is to think

They are real

I’m just Mommy

Milk and comfort

Crusts

Off your sandwiches

Warm towels and

One more story

Not so many years ago

It was wine and roses

Places to wear heels to

People

Minus

An inner monologue

Now

As I watch the world

Wind itself up

Like a top of stupidity

I’m just glad

That my tomato seeds sprouted

And the Parsley too

That my children

Have not become accustomed

To the noise

The nuisance

And the sinister niceties

We are

All together

While we wrestle

Against

The common cocoon

Of cowering

I remember

The dead silence

The certain stillness

Of my Father’s

Recording booth

The dark foam

I used to imagine

As a deep and delightful

Landscape

Of pyramids

Seemingly infinite

A strange safety

Before I knew

I needed it

A hiding place

I never imagined

I would miss

I remember

The scurrying sounds

Of the tape

Running backwards

The screech

And the scratch

Then

The deafening quiet

The curling cords

The metronome

His eyes

Gazing over

His crossword puzzle

And the console

Always a lot older

And a little lighter

Than mine