American Sonnet (54)
- American Sonnet (54)
dearest cousin,
forgive this ruined narrative begging the first element of creation. last time i was here i was here. now i wonder what, exactly, are the components of my invisible spectrum? sun-ra rising.
i went for a reading of palms to rediscover disappointment. “better an almost-was,” said the gypsy, ”than a never-was.” her peculiar conjure left me staring at my naked brown feet for hours. when reverie broke it was near dawn, mist had occluded the volcano and i found myself old, alone sans shelter from the ever-blessed heat.
this note is sent perchance you’ve wondered what befell one adventuresome one solongago lost, this missive in an empty ron rico bottle set adrift on a sea of flute music—this repetitious rendering of pain—for on my one-palm island dwells no such beast as joy
Wanda Coleman, poet and journalist, is author of Imagoes, Heavy Daughter Blues, A War of Eyes and Other Stories, Hand Dance, American Sonnets (1–24), and Native in a Strange Land. She has also published in such periodicals as Another Chicago Magazine, Caliban, River City, Phoebe, Prosodia, and Volt. She lives in Los Angeles.
