INTERMISSION • by Michael Pacholski

 

and when I returned

I discovered

all I had forgotten.

The old computer–

that worn out microchip abacus –

had not moved or changed

a single book flaked with the same old yellow

opened to a faded high school note in a margin

to Lady Macbeth

on the news of her demise (“why, Lady M, why?”)

the tv lighting up bright and blue

greeting my return by name

with stored up favorites

as I wait for a pizza to arrive

same as the years before.

I had not wrinkled in the least

or gotten much more grey or slow.

It was as though I were

in that one absent moment

all-immortal and it was only

some passing notion, a parenthetical

that had hustled by

bent over with work and clock.

 

Here in the plastic

of this breathing replica

you can see as I whisper

where those decades all went –

a chair at a desk

a bell

a flashing image

a leaf drifting

in a cradle of air

 

 


Michael Pacholski was born in 1968 in Wisconsin but has spent most of his life in Illinois where he attended Illinois State University, receiving a Master’s Degree in English (emphasis on Creative Writing) in 2000. His poems have been published in Comstock Review, Karamu, Retort, and 63 Channels.


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INTERMISSION • by Michael Pacholski, 1.8 out of 5 based on 7 ratings
Posted on March 13, 2013 in Literary, Poems
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  • Maire

    Wonderful poem Michael, I love those first lines in particular, so true that when we return somewhere we remember all we had forgotten. I have never returned so I wonder about it all and I know it has all changed now too so there is nothing to return to which is a real pity, not my past life anyhow. Thank you for a charming poem, wonderful read. Maire

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