Cecile Lindstedt wrote her poem, My Brain, for the Art Garden themed “Secret”; thanks for the journey into the cerebral realm, Cecile!
The door to Honore de Balzac's Study, Paris, 2011; © Saxon Henry.
My Brain
There are three ways in
but only one door.
1. You may knock and enter.
You will be standing in an ordinary
room…part library, part office.
Everything is labeled.
“Squashed flat rusty bottlecap—
found in Foodtown parking lot—
think of Peter.”
“1920’s kitchen chair found on
the street—upperwest side—
Manhattan—my desk chair til 2007.”
“Painting by Steve of his beloved
daschsund, Dagmar Goes to
Heaven—in acrylics, circa 1990.”
There are teacups full of words
everywhere. In the cup behind Steve’s painting
you will find the word ‘poeting’;
a noun made into a verb by one
Andrew Hoff, age 9 (my grandson).
2. You may seep in through the
crack at the bottom.
You are in a room and you are
in a forest. A small brook runs
through the floor and over
wooden shoes. You may be seated
in a large wing chair that is
a tree. The tree becomes an
oriental rug, the rug becomes
the North Sea, the sea becomes
a dream of flying, the dream
becomes a haiku.
3. Imagine no door
You are inside of my brain
There’s a bigger door.
© Cecile Lindstedt
