The Computer Imagines Me a Boy
Haley Bossé
Broad-chested, flat
And just out of reach
Perched as he is
A clenching boy
On his digital horse
Crooked incisors flashing
Broad-chested, flat
And just out of reach
Perched as he is
A clenching boy
On his digital horse
Crooked incisors flashing
The title is a lovely paradox; wind is a symbol for change, the only constant in life, but even the wind stops blowing sometimes. It may not be often (as “Can” suggests), but change does stop changing occasionally. In a present where every day seems to reveal some new, horrifying political development, the song’s statement is deeply intoxicating.
Summer, Day 15. My crops thrive, every leaf and vine coaxed into dancing with the breeze. The blueberries, tomatoes, and melons are teaching me grace. At dawn, the dew glistens. All day I listen to the carpenter, her hammer chants an old rhythm called “Creation.”
They belly-crawled to avoid the lightning, and when the gap between rumbles and flashes quickened, they curled up on their packs. Sand stuck in the dry cracks at the corners of their lips.
Maybe all children stop growing up at some point, and then start up again. Like a plant hibernating in the cold.
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