6. Poetry by Alison Jennings
How It All Works
How It All Works is a mystery to us. Should we trust
clouds, the brilliance of autumn leaves, the immense
firmament, its mesmerizing palette of light and shadow?
Mistakes reveal electrifying stories, ways to restart, like
Apollo, whisking by slower chariots, riding the sunrise—
no one’s an expert anymore. Refuse to be another’s muse;
become indifferent to exaltation; allow delights of solitude
and inspiration. Beauty lives in a place not far from here;
go toward whatever you don’t recognize, and there it’ll be.
Experiment with daily items, play with Schrodinger’s cat.
We got this wrong; we’re not damaged angels, mishaps
of evolution—we are stardust, we are golden. Black holes
are just another scary tale; there’s no Theory of Everything.
Who said things had to make sense? In a land of rabbits,
any movement is an owl. And right now, a quantum wave
is tunneling toward you, phosphorescent particles sloshing
over its sides. Stream yourself into the beyond, crack open
the darkness. Lift imagination’s cover; capture moonlight,
stitched into needlepoint. Follow a path, curiosity the guide—
find a lifeboat hidden among weeds. Reality throws us up
against an unlit wall, dares us to respond, with no weapons
except unflagging faith in truth and the coming dawn.
The City of Your Final Destination
The city
of your final destination
will not be where
you’d meant to be,
when you arrive.
The lover
in your final hours
will not be whom
you had expected,
when they appear.
Unforeseen, unpredictable—
nothing certain but uncertainty.
When you get to the city
of your final destination,
you’ll recognize the smell
of violets, the saffron
light on the horizon.
And when you meet the ferryman,
he’ll welcome you, then request
a coin—all your fear will fade.
Outlaw Cowboy Tale
Imagination is the voice of daring. (Henry Miller)
Everyone owns an outlaw cowboy tale of fire
and dust. Breathe out more than breathing in—
sing a funny song; start again at the beginning.
We’re loosely anchored to our positions
by silly string, pulled by absurd paradoxes:
The counterforce kicks in, always at the same point.
Flooded with bright light, a pulsing spot emits
voices of nocturnal birds, bursting with laughter.
You cannot tell if this is excitement or alarm,
and almost fall into the water, breaking off a branch.
Don’t worry about it; we’ll pay for the repairs.
Aware of everything moving, cross borders lightly,
as walls dissolve. If there is to be any peace,
it will come through being, not having—
Our destination was never just a place on earth.
(text from Henry Miller/David Grossman, using William S. Burroughs’ “cut-up” technique)
Alison Jennings
Alison Jennings is a Seattle-based poet who worked as a journalist and accountant and taught English and math in public schools before returning to her first love, poetry. Since then, she has had a mini-chapbook and over 100 other poems published internationally in numerous journals, including Amethyst Review, Cathexis Northwest Press, Meat for Tea, Mslexia, Poetic Sun, Red Door, Society of Classical Poets, Sonic Boom, Stone Poetry, and The Raw Art Review. She has also won 3rd Place/Honorable Mention or been a semi-finalist in several contests. For more details and links to her published poems, visit her website.