The Beanstalk

the beanstalk

The Beanstalk


The beanstalk in the northwest

corner of the room stretches

Out of a plastic cup

A feng shui trick for abundance

in this suitcase-sized apartment.

It has two leaves snow angeled

against the window, the stalk

like a woman’s spine  

a spine made of sea shells

or starfish holding her tall

the shells the bones of stars

calling her into the sky.

Say I look up to her, this

Beanstalk, past the grimy fear

that edges my minivan

and my aspirations. 

I can do this thing,

this self-start, this wish fulfillment.

All I wanted was a paycheck,

a health insurance plan,

and a lanyard attached to a briefcase

with an alright photo

lined in a thin jacket of plastic and

the smick-smack script

of a 7AM Starbucks conversation

with a barista about people

I’ve never met, and their problem.

Instead I started a business

the nothing-t-do

w/money- poems go on

demanding personhood

and a cobalt tone

I am proud to have tasted,

after the perfect cup of synaesthesia.  

Hey, tomorrow:

I want a different oriental rug

on each step of a staircase,

to pull my mahogany desk

out of storage now

there is room enough to hold it

in a Douglas fir and neat lawn

neighborhood where I exhale

cigarettes away from the front street

Calling on luck to heed me, stepping

back inside to work at magic

and finding a golden goose

once I part with all my money, get taken,

sleep, wake to a miracle,

climb, and slay a giant.


One thought on “The Beanstalk

  1. Poems go on demanding personhood – Getting closer to the essence of poetry wh. expresses itself as a conundrum wrapped in dull shadow.


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