- Ghazal of the Polar Vortex
On my new iPhone, the Weather app defaults to Cupertino—Upper 60s in the Santa Clara Valley. "Cupertino,"
I mutter, hacking snow-crust from the windshield, my khakisspattered with slush. I dream another life in Cupertino:
In bed with the Times, its pages ironed flat by a servant,I'm propped on my pillow, savoring another cup of tea—no,
a carafe of zinfandel from my own vineyards, eggs Benedictspewing béarnaise on a plate embossed with Cupertino:
Where Breathing Is More Natural than Death. No crime or poverty.No churches, voting stations, prisons, or libraries—that's Cupertino.
Maybe I have been there, or driven through, the light as thick as the oilin a sperm whale's head, a Cessna skywriting C U P E R T I N O
above the site where Bautista de Anza's cartographer conjuredthe patron saint of mental handicaps, Joseph of Cupertino,
the night they camped along the arroyo they would name after him—Poor Giuseppe Desa, born in the Italian village of Cupertino
to serve as stable boy to Capuchin friars who thought him simpleuntil bouts of ecstatic flight lifted him out of Cupertino
and delivered him like a stray balloon to Our Lady of Graceswhere he floated over parishioners who swooned, "Cupertino!" [End Page 32]
I close Wikipedia, oracle of the digital age, which informs meautocorrecting with incorrect words is called the Cupertino
Effect: poïesis as poisonous, Brodeur as saboteur.O cathode seraphim, O Holy! Holy! Holy! Cupertino! [End Page 33]
Brian Brodeur is the author of four collections of poetry, most recently the chapbook Local Fauna (Kent State University Press, 2015). New poems and critical essays appear in Measure, Pleiades, and the Writer's Chronicle. Brian lives with his wife and daughter in the Whitewater River Valley.