Jéanpaul Ferro
Hemispheres

Excerpt from Hemispheres


Southernmost Point

After years in Salina,
rain-bands drifting up north to New England,
ten thousand days in the monotonous green flat
of Oklahoma,
taking my family and driving them south,
as south as one can go in the lower forty eight,
where road ends and life begins,
the southernmost point--
at the edge of the sea's shaking helmet, Key West
where your dreams still swim beneath the water
with the rock hind and juv fish.
A place where you can see Havana and the Yucatan Peninsula,
hurricanes floating up as far north as the Sigsbee Knolls,
up over land into the Mississippi, the flood plains,
past the stars one hundred billion years away,
blue supergiants collapsing to neutron stars,
our heads emptying, calmness flowing, blue, down our throats,
peace coming, euphoria, something none of us have ever felt before,
in the north, on the plains, in the mountains,
skies full of thunder, that picture of father we had put on his grave,
that feeling of losing our sense of place,
the reason why we all leave it sometimes--
all those dry silos full of yesterday's dreams.

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