Pleasure is . . .

Reading Roland Barthes' Mythologies for the first time. Rambling through Chinatown at twilight to find the black crowned night herons perched on shop awnings and street lamps. That first lick of poetic inspiration, after a few cups of coffee or over a glass of merlot, the house dark except for where lamplight hits a clean white page. Finally understanding why your friend loved the book she lent you. Wishing your OTL a happy 31st birthday at midnight. Deconstructing the local art scene over red wine in a friend's new apartment. The warm scent of freshly laundered socks & dresses. Your first baseball game, ever, barn swallows & white-throated swifts zinging above your head. A field of cattails where red-winged blackbirds perch & kookaree. Free beer at the cafe where your friend works. An aquarium of jellyfish floating pink & spectral in an electric blueness taller than the tallest person. The calm melodic voice of a friend reading tarot cards for you. A sea otter seen for the first time, lying on its back on a cloudy day in Monterrey Bay. A letter from Portland waiting to be opened. The knowledge that even when you are sad, there are still tight buds of sensation about to yield only if one acquiesces, through sorrow & angst, to their florescence.




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