Approaching the Autobiographical
by J.J. Steinfeld
I am, I decided early one languishing morning,
a miscellany of everything and nothing
from my earliest coherent thought
to this woeful assemblage of words
in an attempt to make the kettle boil faster
for the fantastical coffee I’m craving.
I watch a half-formed ghostly creature
open my file, a neither too thin nor too thick
assortment of tidbits and hopes and dreams
all arranged in an absurd manner
a spoonful of instant coffee, two dollops of honey,
a little skim milk, stirred and stirred
as I watch the faces form in the miniature whirlpool
faces I recognize, faces I’ve never seen before,
real faces, imaginary faces, idiotic faces,
faces of transcendence, faces of disillusionment
the half-formed ghostly creature
transforms, hums songs from my past,
and smiles and sneers at the same time
quick an impressive trick, I say,
attempting to make small talk,
the half-formed ghostly creature
now a fully formed, albeit androgynous,
eminence in the middle of my kitchen
the personification of…
of what I’m not certain
it is, after all, early in the morning,
and I am having nighttime fantasies
of a most spiritual nature.