| ***BIO*** Julie Bolt is an Assistant Professor of English at Bronx Community College. Recent and upcoming publications include The Fifth Street Review, Mastadon Dentist, Zygote in My Coffee, 3am Magazine, Radical Teacher, The Seeker, Slow Trains Literary Magazine, The Sidewalk's End, and Apollo's Lyre, among others. After many years in California, Arizona, and New Mexico, Julie has returned to New York City with a husband, son, and two dogs in tow. |
| ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM |
 |
 |
| © 2005 zygoteinmycoffee Ink. |
| Home |
| Submit |
| Sages |
| by Julie 'the' Bolt |
| Crazy king man in Union Square
Paper crown and coke-can staff Sages, I romanticize them, sure Some sickness; middle-class romantic bunk Diagnose me, fine, and them, but I want to know: Are they Don Quixotes? Are they the holy prophets? And if I wore a cardboard cap cut like a jagged crown Bejeweled with bottle-caps and twisted aluminum foil If I found myself a cape, layers of capes, Glad bag capes, If I pushed a souped-up shopping cart with magic gadgets And made a Hello Kitty gargoyle staff and leapt full-bodied In front of strangers, and caught them with my gleaming eyes Would I be able to say anything I want? Any fucking thing? Would I incant wild wisdom, quote dead poets, speak with gods? Could I put curses on my enemies, any haphazard enemy I choose? Like that a-hole who shoved me, murmuring an unimaginative advance? And would some of my incantations and proclamations bring on miracles? Might I compose songs for quarrelling lovers, make random children laugh? Would I savor gifts of half-eaten falafel and lay resplendent on steam vents, While Wall Street thieves jump careless over me, only to collapse at my feet? And would I be gifted through the power of my devotion to all of humankind? And would I be gifted through my undying devotion to all of my cosmic selves? And could I -- a teacher, a wife, a mother, a middle-class romantic, with a safe life Dump this condo, job, grocery list, internet connection, concern re: publication? Well. Let me tell you. Sometimes the mad sun in my belly sizzles and burns that damn bright. |
 |
| Oct. 2005 |
| 51 |