Richard Kroon — Reverie

Reverie

I was standing up and opening Evernote 

to read a poem to a group of friends, some I know better than others 

and I had the strangest sensation of being out of my body looking down from above at me and these people sort of arranged just 

So

And with peach blaze fuzz hums gently beneath our feet and between my toes engulfing nerves in a cloud of hot pink electricity 

And from my vantage point I can see

That I am writing this down as it happens

Each letter is a tremendous exertion of pure and eternal love for the past and the future 

To tattoo a present together out of them both

My brain bleeds ink into a page which becomes a capital blobby b

Standing for Benoit b Mandelbrot 

That b? That stands for Benoit b Mandelbrot 

And What does that b stand for 

Dot dot dot

But the be also is a window in my page to a scene of Benoit b Mandelbrot himself

You move in close to the b like its a window pane and see its not just an image but a scene 

We see over Benoits shoulder in a room where he sits at a writing desk

Just about to sign his name

And he does

Then he looks over his shoulder with a knowing grin, seeing you looking right back at him

And you know that he knows that you know that he knows 

And that goes on for as long as it goes

Then he looks from your eyes to the b he wrote on the page 

And you zoom in to that next little b 

At that stage

you see 

we 

are always 

back the top

And then his eyes are mine and I'm the writer and 

I open my eyes to see the L train has stopped and the doors are open and people are getting off

The crowd all clears and who should appear but my friend Tara 

from Saskatoon 

whom I never held that dear 

but have long known

Since we shared several classes over the three years we studied 

At a college in France for dog taxidermy

Many bottles of wine

Shared friends and nights

Stuffing a border collie together for the 

Local baron named salon de brevers

A group trip to see the taxidermy of King Louis catorzzzzzeeee (in joke) 

at Versailles

But she looks at my face blankly as I smile at her

And suddenly my eyes I must aver

This is not Tara, or rather there isn't Tara

My life has no college of taxidermy in it

No study in France so 

No way to meet 

A Tara that is this Tara 

Who is Not Tara

And probably not a Tara at all actually 

Embarrassed at my accidental familiarity I'm struck by a sudden jolt of reality

That I don't live in New York and I haven't for a year 

I'm sitting on a chair in the buffet deck of a cruise ship and time has just stuttered and I've missed a quarter second of a crucial word in a sentence that is clearly a question

What? I mumble, oh my mouth is full. I chew and I swallow the mouthful of... Bacon and eggs. Yum. 

I grab my glass of water and as I lift it to my lips I look into the water and catch a glimpse of a reflection

in fact before my eyes is me in a mirror 

Of glass

 behind the dinner table 

in this house that I've visited with friends

And To create and to be 

and to start and to blend

To create and be art 

And we're now sitting down to dinner and passing around the serving plates and joking around about the events of the day and put down the glass in my hand And bump it slightly

And it nearly spills on the white tablecloth covered table set for two in this restaurant in Manhattan 

Silver service, I'm suited

Hushed voices and the tinkle of glasses and laughter

I catch the glass, no water spills

And I look up to see the love of my life

She is sitting resplendent in beauty and she smiles at a moment of rare clumsiness

This is the day we are getting engaged

I'm pretty sure she knows

She has dressed to slay men at a distance of thirty feet or more and has had a delicious grin on her face the whole meal, 

we don't eat like this often, only for special occasions 

we now wait for dessert and champagne

And a ring

My heart beats

Quite insistently

I'm a lucky man

I let the glass rest flat back on the table and my friends laugh and boo and say that that was a close one and pass me the dish of beans

And we laugh 

Or they laugh and I laugh in confusion

My love is

Somehow gone? 

If you remember

Loving someone so deeply 

If you remember it so strongly

How do you mourn it?

This question makes these memories replay again and again and I'm quiet at dinner and we eat and after I try to explain my little reveries

The stories and the pictures and the feelings

And as I think I get them to understand these complete shifts of reality

My eyelids blink shut

And open

And I'm standing with my friends holding my phone looking with no memory of what I was just doing but the distinct impression of having stood up with the intention to read a poem but just have a blank page open in my text editor.

 

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