Tuesday Poem - '40' by Jennifer Compton

40

I feel like a piece of steel — maybe

a railway track, laid out, for travelling.

I feel like a well of deep water

dangerously cold — liquid.

I feel as if I could love — someone or something —

like a living arc of burnished gold (or a rainbow).

I could let go and love like the very devil.

I'm a doona stuffed with rose petals —

lightweight, mettlesome and fragrant.

I speak all tongues: I could be of some use.

I am in the very centre of the paradox — I am huge

and without having to think of it — I am minute.

This is a renaissance: this is the beginning of my life.

I am on fire with that first simple flame of birth —

air incinerating skin, helpless limbs and lolling head.

Myths and icons sloughed, orphaned at last,

I have no opinion worth having,

coming into that kingdom of wanting nothing —

waterproofed, created, solidified. 

I'm at that time of life (not 40 any more) when I am starting to think about putting together a Selected. So for the first time for a long time I am going back to old books. Seeing if I still like anything I wrote so long ago. This one, for instance, I wrote 25 years ago! And I do still like it, so hot damn! I was googling to see if I could find an image of the book cover, and it is surprising how many second hand copies are available out on the intertubes. (But pricey, what with postage, very pricey.) I did spot one copy being sold in the UK that has an inscription to the previous owner! Who can that be? Who did I post an inscribed copy to, or who travelled to England and took the book with them? I am consumed with curiosity and if only it was a tiny bit cheaper I would invest in it just to find out whom!