the impossible dream
the desire to see the aurora borealis,
my desire for the day’s first coffee,
i want you both of these ways.
i met you as a swing-dancing young actor
getting ready for my role in the Fall musical,
Man of La Mancha, i was playing Sancho,
this was many songs ago.
a car honks outside.
geese migrate above the traffic.
we sit on stools at the window, looking out at the street,
talking of mental illness like it’s common as apples
because it’s common as apple trees.
we live in the aftermath
of Johnny Appleseed’s destructive second venture.
i think it’s time we call it.
call what? exactly.
our cups are empty.
the geese are gone.
i’d say your eyes make me crazy
but i’m already crazy.
it’s time to go.
i try to make my eyes blank pages
but i’m afraid they look like neutron stars.
i’ve fallen into darkness, learning
those who miss the light the most used to make it
and can’t anymore.
i’m telling you to listen to Neil Young,
then walking through dirty snow to my car
wondering if you know how much light you make.
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neuroscience
and yet, my uneasy railroad passes
through the towns, hippocampus, frontal cortex,
back to the amygdala, always back there,
why not? a toothless angel bid me
write this poem in my dream:
mailbox (me)
home movies
yes ma’am.
tell me what you think it means. meanwhile, i’m walking down the
tracks, snowed by cold love,
melting and afraid whenever i recall,
alright, alright, i’ll get off the tracks,
the surprise train i thirsted for passes me by,
i survive like a dog left outside in a blizzard,
hypothermia- all i’ve lost.
can i reach the mountain with the strength to climb?
i melt again, it hurts, i’m tingling like a breaking bell,
honey, honey, i go back to the tracks,
it’s the surest way to hitch a ride,
this amygdala is no place to live,
i’ve packed my bags, i said fare thee well,
here comes a train, i run alongside it
and jump into an open car
where the toothless angel awaits me
putting a finger to his lips.
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Ethan Mershon is a poet living in Wichita, Kansas. His work has appeared in The Paris American, and Wild Roof Journal.
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Stone Poetry Quarterly 