Dust Jacket (from 2000)

Someday I will appear on the back of a book.

Who I am will be splayed on the dust jacket,
the back part, the black and white photo
where my face is cocked sideways
a bit, alluring, leading, longing
quite possibly lounging on a red chair, my right leg
tossed like a sweaty gardening shirt
over the velveteen arm. I look awash in
knowing and concupiscence, alert while
innocuously insouciant, a writer for the times,
the bedfellow my readers confer with or confess to,
magnificent ringleader that I will be, gathering
the hoipoloi around me like a herd
of somnambulistic lions drowsy on blood but
ready for more action.

There will be more than two sentences about me.

Who I am will remind everyone of their own penchant
for some deserved if miniscule prominence
and they will be glad it is I who have attained recognition,
I who have the log cabin in the country
perched beside a working windmill
and naturally-occurring pond where I live prosperously
with my husband, an artist
and two children who read beyond their ages.

The masses will memorize me.

Who I am will percolate and permeate synapse and cell,
skin and soul. My incendiary words will be etched
like a child’s initials in freshly poured concrete,
for infinity even after sleep marks the end of the rhyme.

What Are You Thinking Right Now?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s