Waiting Again for Biopsy Results from the Second Floor Exercise Room by Jennifer Franklin

View this email on a browser Forward to a friend July 10, 2014   Waiting Again for Biopsy Results from the Second Floor Exercise Room   Jennifer Franklin

I glimpse the tulips every two seconds. They arrived late this year. Those who planted The bulbs must not have considered how they Would look from here—red, paired with pink dogwood. Seven umbrellas float by; only one Inverts. Ammonia swathed on the machines Makes this walk to nowhere less appealing. A police car patrols the next window Where a dingy white van remains parked. It Is difficult to discern if it’s still Raining. Two bridges (I have crossed neither) And the asylum for the criminally Insane loom across the estuary. An old woman obscured by a plum cloche Appears to hail a taxi but after One stops, it’s clear that she is waving to Children who laugh as they glide past. She turns And exits my view. I will try to eat Six green things today and nothing white. A Flash dance mob and you are as likely to Appear. My tiny bottle of perfume Is almost empty. It sits alone, a Deluxe sample, on the pink tray I bought Last century in Florence. I don’t know If I’ll buy a bottle—still unable To find, at forty, my signature scent. The postman slumps against the fountain, his Body the heaviest load that he has To carry. How much rain would it take for The fountain to overflow? I wish I Hadn’t been too self-conscious to learn the Basics of the Argentine tango in The three lessons before the wedding in Thessaloniki. Ever since I read Bronte, I refuse to use an umbrella And pretend I’m walking the moors even In the city. I am never where I Am. If I told you what I look forward To, I couldn’t bear your pity. I would Not do any of this without music. This room is a drenched rag of desire, Even when it’s empty. It is not too Late to learn something new, even with this Trach scar and three letters in my desk drawer. Nine dogs saunter past, smelling the sidewalk. The weather does not seem to bother them. It is too early to be this dark out. I don’t want to leave the building today.            Copyright @ 2014 by Jennifer Franklin. Used with permission of the author. About This Poem   “This poem is, in part, an exploration of the human mind’s capacity to escape the limitations of body, place, time, and circumstance. While deliberately utilizing the restraint of meter, it meditates on the duality of the hopeful and the tragic—themes that I am exploring in my current work.” —Jennifer Franklin   Jennifer Franklin is the author of Persephone’s Ransom (Finishing Line Press, 2015). She teaches at The Hudson Valley Writers’ Center, is coeditor of Slapering Hol Press, and lives in New York City. Most Recent Book by Franklin   Persephone’s Ransom Finishing Line Press (2011) “Bodyweight” by Matthew Schwartz “Flux” by Afaa M. Weaver “Human Atlas” by Marianne Boruch Poem-a-Day   Launched during National Poetry Month in 2006, Poem-a-Day features new and previously unpublished poems by contemporary poets on weekdays and classic poems on weekends. Thanks for being a part of the Academy of American Poets community. To learn about other programs, including National Poetry Month, Poem in Your Pocket Day, the annual Poets Forum, and more, visit Poets.org.   You are receiving this e-mail because you elected to subscribe to our mailing list. If you would like to unsubscribe, please click here.   © Academy of American Poets 75 Maiden Lane, Suite 901, New York, NY 10038