Thursday, July 6, 2017

Grand Scale














Grand Scale

You have to leave Earth. Talk about Orion’s Belt
having the brightest stars. Like you spent a holiday
gazing at Betelgeuse. Mention Ancient Egyptians.
How they aligned the Great Sphinx and pyramids
at Giza with Orion’s Three Kings, or Three Sisters,
believing the god Osiris would return from there
one day. Zoom next into life’s minutiae. Confess
how you stole a book from a friend’s bathroom
at a party in your twenties. Then spent the whole
next day reading the book, shaking and sweating
the alcohol out, hating yourself, before calling
and giving it back. The poem of the grand scale
requires you mention echolocation. How sperm
whales and dolphins use sonar to stun their prey.
How this is somehow linked to the subconscious.
Dark stirrings at the bottom reaches of the mind.
Then the hot topic of your vasectomy comes up.
The fact you cannot have anymore children, even
though you have two wonderful kids with an ex
who talks to you, and anyways, the poem is not 
interested in more children. It just likes the idea
of birth. And strangeness. Enter a kind stranger
like the old Asian man in your neighbourhood in
the blue jumpsuit who does walking meditation
backwards every morning. It is seductive the poem
of the grand scale. The sense of walking backwards
through life, zooming through space, plumbing
depths of oceanic loss. It wants you to believe
everything is connected. That everything aligns
with the stars. That although the pantry is bare,
shelves are full, if only we took the time to look.


By Chris Banks
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