by Elizabeth Pinborough
Life is a visit with strangeness—
like the drive through at the Arby’s
in Bowling Green where they couldn’t
take my mother’s order because
their cash register was on fire—
like when three Union swimmers
jumped into Lost River to test her
depths, quicksilver undertow ferrying
them invisibly away—like when I
climbed into Mammoth Cave,
marveling at yellowed stalactite teeth
in the dripping mildewed jaw until
a National Park employee cut all lights,
erasing my body—emptying my eyes
so I could not see my own hand
held out, heart fibers lashing with
lively panic—like the pack rat who marks
days in Timpanogos Cave stealing pens
from the grimy guestbook, his house
emitting a most terrible stench—like
soaring over LaVell Edwards Stadium
at sunrise in a hot air balloon, my
third-grade homage to Dorothy’s first
failed return from Oz—like trying not
to remember what happened when
my brain sputtered in a calcium flood
after skull met pillar—like I plan for grief
to gobble February, and clear my calendar.
::
Elizabeth Pinborough is the co-editor of Young Ravens Literary Review and a featured poet on Mapping Literary Utah. Her collection of poems and linocuts, The Brain’s Lectionary: Psalms and Observations (BCC Press, 2022), encapsulates her literary journey to reconstruct her memory, language abilities, and relationship with God following a traumatic brain injury. Her poems have appeared in Dialogue: A Journal of Mormon Thought, Psaltery & Lyre, and Exponent II.
Image: Diane Helentjaris
Image description: bright, multicolored hot air balloon seen from inside as it inflates.
Beautiful. An enormous poem. And the picture: exactly right.