by Jo Ann Baldinger
Like you, I am marriedto this current body-life its aging infrastructure & existential botherationsthough some blithe sprite goes on imagining I will get to the bottom of things. All will be explained & I will be redeemed like the rubber-banded Raleigh couponsmy mother traded for a new toaster. In the godless house of my childhoodthere were no sacred texts or rituals.It's possible I read too many novels.I prefer observing from a slight elevation like the front row of the dress circle.Whereas from the highest box at the Paris Operaall I could see were the mezzo's pointed boots
—well-polished, gleaming in the spotlight.