To All The Girls

Poem By Werner Schmidt

He enters a black forest.
Perhaps because he tried to read Freud.
Narrow path. Some sort of enchantment.
Is he flying or falling?

A girl's off-white spring dress
crosses the twilight path before him.
Pigtails bounce as she bubbles.
She looks left, quick as a blink
smiles and then thin air
although her sound lingers
like a merry brook, and then fades.

A bent, wild-haired woman's
black frock shuffles across the misty path.
Her struggle moves him as her face trembles.
She looks through him with eyes
like silver marbles.
Disappears in slow motion.
He drops his eyes.

He raises them
as a naked woman with
strawberry blonde hair
dropping down to the small of her back
waddles across the dimly lit path.
Belly bulging to bursting
and instantly it is replaced
by a wriggling blonde baby, who chuckles
and then suckles while grabbing, grabbing.
A knowing smile forms on the mother's moon face.
She flicks her hair behind her ear, looks at him
and closes her eyes to release a single tear.

One by one they parade across his path.
Each engaging this flying, falling man
as he drifts forward, in a state, not unlike
REM paralysis.

The action stops
as the forest darkens.
He rises and walks
deeper.

A clearing …

What looks like gigantic spotlights from above
reveal all the females he saw, and more.
Dancing. Laughing. Easy-going.
Screaming. Struggling. Singing.
Changing. Crying. Dying.

Two children grow as they dance
bubble and weave through
the gathering of women and girls.

Lightning guillotines the earth.
Envelops the group in blinding white
which rolls up into a shiny ball.
It hovers at eye-level.
The forest and everything drop away.

***
The glittering white ball disappears into your left eye.
A momentary sparkle as you stand behind the stove
stirring the oatmeal of our lives.

"So, what's your answer? " you ask.
Your eyes look tired as you turn a knob down to 1.

"S-sorry, Love … w-what were you saying? "

"Will you set the table, please, Waldo, and call the kids? "

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