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Head: A Poem
Poem
My head weighs as much as a Christmas
turkey. Imagine my head on a platter,
the waiter staggering under its weight.
Yet the memories inside my skull are lighter
than gossamer; they drift like weightless birds
on a warm updraft, or slowly become invisible.
I have seen Yosemite, and its waterfalls and
mountains are in my brain, as is
the monstrous cruise ship I sailed on and
the moon, in all its incarnations.
I have touched satin and concrete, silk
and stone, honey and quicksilver; all
are in there, as is the tang of eucalypts
on a searing day, the razoring of smoke in my throat,
the smooth yellow custard I made
with careful precision, because weights and
measures are in there, too. But the method
for working out the pesky train that travels
at different speeds between stations,
the poems I was forced to learn by heart
as a child, the exact sound of my parents’ voices –
