Clairvoyancing Is Not Just a Word

I had an aunt who was a clairvoyant. Actually her father was one too. My grandfather, her brother, laid claim to a little of the action himself. Sometimes I think it’s come down to me in the form of poetry.

Clairvoyancing July 20, 1963

The highly wrought baroque curves of the Bentwood
oscillate in balanced, almost seasonal,
geometry as Aunt Samara sways
beneath the darkening the coronal
eclipse is covering the earth in, lit
by just that circular indefinite

Over the past thirteen months, my blogging has found its mission, one of which is to post my poems here, not so much for some kind of vanity publication although of course that always exists, but in a journalistic intent to get to the bottom of it. This one is another serial narrative. I’m not sure where it’s going. Or even if it will get there. But I have some ideas. I've found the tightrope helps.

For the record, I’m post-dating this particular incident about four or five years, but the eclipse came into the poem not because of the rhyme but with it. I remember this particular eclipse. I was in Barnstead NH, where the eclipse was almost total. It was total in Maine.