THE HEART WAKING UP BRAIDS HER HAIR
Helen Wickes


But I digress, which is where I found you
In a glass house gathering no moss
With the scent of lemons, sound of two flutes
Remotely controlled and fully erasable

A glass house which gathers no moss
Please sit still and I’ll tell you
It’s remotely controlled, fully erasable
The language taking aim at the soundless

Sit still, I’m telling you the story
A repertoire of sound spilled at your feet
Language taking aim at the soundless
It doesn’t matter if you packed the right clothes

A repertoire of tricks poured over your feet
Phobia supplants epiphany, then wants a kiss
It doesn’t matter if you lack the right clothes
Astound me with your voice, all suede, ice cube,

Phobia supplanting epiphany, wanting that kiss
A field we hoped would contain us
Surround me with your voice: violets, ice cubes
Mad for the blue and you as you are meant to be

In the field we were sure would contain us
Until the bright comes forward, shows its face
Mad for the blue of what’s enough, what’s next
Again the question, as you are meant to believe

Until the bright comes toward you, shows its face
Shows the scent of lemons, sound of two flutes
Shows the question, what’s enough, what’s next
But I digress, which is where I found you.



Helen Wickes lives in Oakland, California, and worked for many years as a psychotherapist. Her first book of poems, In Search of Landscape, was published in 2007 by Sixteen Rivers Press. Her work has appeared in the anthology Best of the Web 2009 and elsewhere.