A Finger Two Dots Then Me

"A Finger, Two Dots, Then Me"
(The Poem I'd Like My Future Wife to Read When I Finally Crap Out)
by Derrick C. Brown




I guess people love this poem the most. Maybe cause it explains what happens to us when we die in a way that might seem possible. Actually, I have no idea why this one is the most popular. This was written after I had read an article about a father who laid out a blanket for himself and his son in a park by my house, then planned on killing both but after he killed his son with the shotgun, he tried to kill himself but screwed it up and lived. I wanted to coat the wickedness of that scene with something romantic and kind of funny so the park won't hold that memory fast for me. Beauty is born from tragedy.

Lying together in the park on Seventh,
our backs smoosh grass and I say
I will love you till I become a child again,
when feeding me and bathing me is no longer romantic,
but rather necessary.

I will love you till there is no till.
Till I die.
And when that electroencephalogram shuts down, baby
that's when the real lovin' kicks in.

Forgive me for sounding selfish
but I won't be able to wait under the earth for you
(albeit a romantic thought for groundhogs,
gophers and the gooey worms).
I will not be able to wait for you...

but I will meet up with you
and here's where you will find me:
get a pen--

Hold your finger up
(two fingers if your hands are frail by now)
and count two stars directly to the left
of the North American moon.
You will find me there.
You will find me darting behind amazing quasars
Behind flirtatious winks
of bright and blasting boom stars!

Sometimes charging so far into space
the darkness goes blue.
I will be there chasing sound waves
riding them like two-dollar pony ride horses
that have finally broken free and wild.
I will be facing backwards, lying sideways,
no hands, sidesaddle, sometimes standing
sometimes screaming zip zang zowie!
My God, it's good to be back in space... Where is everybody?

You will recognize my voice.
You will see the flash of a fire trail
burning off the back of me
burning like a gasoline comet kerosene sapphire.
This is my voice.
Don't look for my body or a ghost.
I'll resemble more a pilot light than a man now.

I'm sure some will see
this cobalt star white light from earth
and cast me a wish like a wonder bomb.
And I'll think "Hmmph. people still do that?"

I'm sure I'll take the light wonder bombs
to the point in the universe
where sound does end.
The back porch of God's summer home.

It's so quiet here, you float.
It feels the way cotton candy tastes.

I say to him... why do I call you God?
He says 'Because Grand Poobah sounds ridiculous.'
(Who knew he was so witty?)
I ask him 'Lord, so many poets have tried to nail it and missed, what is holy?'

At that moment,
the planets begin to spin and awaken
and large movie screens appear on Mars, Saturn and Venus
each bearing images I have witnessed
and over each and every clip flashes the word holy.

armadillos--holy
magic tricks--holy
cows' tongues--holy
snowballs upside the head--holy
clumsy first kisses--holy
sneaking into movies--holy
your mother teaching you to slow dance
the fear returning
the fear overcome--holy
eating top ramen on upside-down frisbees
cause it was either plates or more beer--holy
drunk beach cruiser nights--holy
the $5.00 you made in vegas
and the $450.00 you lost--holy
the last time you were nervous holding hands--holy
feeling God at a pool hall but not church--holy
sleeping during your uncle's memorized dinner prayer--holy
losing your watch in the waves and all that signifies--holy
the day you got to really speak to your father cause the television broke--holy
the day your grandmother told you something meaningful
cause she was dying--holy
the medicine
the hope
the blood
the fear
the trust
the crush
the work
the loss
the love
the test
the birth
the end
the finale
the design
in the stars
is the same
in our hearts
the design
in the stars
is the same
in our hearts
in the rebuilt machinery of our hearts

So love, you should know what to look for
and exactly where to go...

Take your time and don't worry about getting lost.
You'll find me.
Up there, a finger and two dots away.
If you're wondering if I'll still be able to hold you
...I honestly don't know

But I do know that I could still fall for
a swish of light that comes barreling
and cascading towards me.

It will resemble your sweet definite hands.
The universe will bend.
The planets will bow.
And I will say "Oh, there you are. I been waitin' for ya. Now we can go."

And the two pilot lights go zoooooooom
into the black construction paper night

as somewhere else
two other lovers lie down on their backs and say
"What the hell was that?"

bucket list.

In no particular order:

•  Learn to play the Harmonica
• Attend Burning Man in California
• Live in California
• Learn to speak another language fluently
• Get a tattoo (one that, hopefully, I won't regret)
• Go to Paris
• Learn how to hoolah hoop. (Hula Hoop?)
• Learn how to ice skate
• Own a vespa
• Take a trapeze class
• Visit all the US States
• Visit all the continents
• Write (and perform) my own poetry
• Be an extra in a feature film
• Visit Amsterdam, and try to remember what happened
• Travel to India to celebrate Holi
• Run a marathon
• Or run a mile in ten minutes. whichever comes first.
• Watch a space shuttle launch
• Visit the Tower of Pisa
• Own a dog
• Learn to play guitar
• Go to Mardi Gras
• Backpack through Europe
• Ride in a limo
• Attend High Tea at somewhere really ritzy
• Live in London
• Pet a manatee
• Go streaking
• Be a part of a flash mob
• Learn to drive a stick shift
• Complete a Rubix Cube without cheating
• Get my Master's Degree
• Take scores of hip hop classes
• Meet Dalai Lama
• High-five Obama
• Sit at the edge of a cliff/mountain
• Pick apples at an orchard
• Stomp Grapes
• Be a part of a professional photography session
• Bike across a state
• Have a sloth as a pet
• Have a pig as a pet
• Have an elephant as a pet
• Become ambidextrous
• Play the bass flute and contrabassoon
• Fire a gun
• Go paintballing
• Zipline
• Learn to juggle
• Drive Route 66
• Learn to double dutch
• Zorb
• Get vagazzled
• Learn how to cook
• Edinburgh Fringe Festival
• Learn Banjo
• Learn all countries and capitals
• Read Harry Potter
• Let go of 99 balloons
• Learn how to roller skate
• Achieve zero debt
• Learn to play poker
• Ride my bike everyday to work in the summer 2012
• Vegan for a month
• Go to Mexico
• Fall Colors in New England
• Donate Blood
• Ride a motorcycle alone
• Sumo Wrestling
• Indoor Sky Diving
• Bounce House
• Dunk Tank
• Pie Throwing Booth
• Kissing Booth
• Sauna
• Quit smoking OR learn to roll my own cigarettes
• Attend a music festival in another country
• WWOOF
• World Wife Carrying Championships
• Go to Dollyworld
• Chiditarod
• Rubber Ducky Derby
• Stowaway 
• Kentucky Derby//Ascot Horse Race
• Bet on a horse race

Well...it's a start.

It gets better?

my favorite cartoon

I think this explains my sense of humor better than I ever could.

and--somehow--the wine.

Although I tend to lean to the aspects of slam poetry, Billy Collins very well could be my favorite poet despite that. This piece is outstandingly funny, and beautifully written.

Litany
By Billy Collins

You are the bread and the knife,
The crystal goblet and the wine...
-Jacques Crickillon

You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.

It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine.

you make me feel so young.

evasive maneuvers

Evasive Maneuvers
By Billy Collins

I grew up hiding from the other children.
I would break off from the pack on its patrol of streets every Saturday

and end up alone behind a hedge
or down a dim hallway in a strange basement.
No one ever came looking for me,
which only added to the excitement.

I used to hide from adults, too,
mostly behind my mother’s long coat
or her floral dress depending on the season.

I tried to learn how to walk
between my father’s steps while he walked
like the trick poodle I had seen on television.

And I hid behind books,
usually one of the volumes of the encyclopedia
that was kept behind the glass in a bookcase,
the letters of the alphabet in gold.

Before I knew how to read,
I sat in an armchair in the living room
and turned the pages, without a clue

about the worlds that were pressed
between D and F, M and O, W and Z.

Maybe this explains why
I looked out the bedroom window
first thing this morning
at the heavy trees, low gray clouds,

and said the word gastropod out loud,
and having no idea what it meant,
went downstairs and looked it up
then hid in the woods from my wife and our dog.

–from Ballistics, copyright 2008 by Billy Collins; Random House