Anticipation

by Michele Randall

​

         Our daily experiences bear no resemblance

         to what we had anticipated—Kenko

 

Take to life with a jeweler’s loupe:

 

to look only at each brush stroke,

the degradation of a pigment, centuries

 

old, the thinnest vein on David’s hand,

the softer dots of Signac’s Seine Steamer,

 

to crawl inside a secret conversation

between childhood friends, whispered,

 

to be the hiccup, soundwave, post giggle,

to ride a bumble bee in an orange grove,

 

in full bloom, to inhabit the smallest space,

as if we own the whole world.