a poem a day for a year #71

by Amy Turn Sharp


I play the Graceland album often on Sunday afternoons
it floats through the house
balloons on sticks
dancing hips
strong coffee

your life is on fire

my small son finds the light
like a pet stretch dynamo
he is in a perfect banner of sun
and we all kinda move like a groove
back and forth across the floor

in 1986 an intern from Rolling Stone magazine
got his hands on a copy of Simon's album
and all night long in his tiny apartment in the Village
he made love to his girlfriend
and dreamed of South Africa
and in the morning
he knew he was a poet
and he had a swagger on the sidewalk
light followed him
all the way down the long avenues

and in 2012 a boy in Ohio
turns his head
to the left a little
shouts out
from the top of the stair

MOM
mother
MOM

let's go to Graceland

sure I say
go get in the car
tell me who you will become
as we drive down the road
as we fly towards the future