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A POEM FOR OSCAR WINNERS
(no connection to Oscar Meyer Weiners):

...And The Winner Is...

"I want..."
and here, knowing none of this could be happening,
not to her, left stranded far from that tiny body
glowing there, deserted even by time --
"I just want to thank..." --
each syllable of recorded and video-taped time
lasts forever: "I" "just"
"want" "I just" "I just want
to thank so many people many
so thank to want..." (Is it
the TV that flickers so?)
"...people who..." --
In some other world that
can't be happening the
prepared words, only the
words are prepared, but she,
no script can hold her,
suddenly from syllable
to syllable, dies and is
born anew, must
each instant
re-create herself
(so many instants!
Who'd have guessed?
And still enough new selves
for each), a flame
that spreads, fills
the hall, now faces, walls,
chandeliers, silences all
flicker, being born born born,
she must keep
putting them there, no one else
can, put them there,
yes, hold them still,
yes, by sheer act of
will she (the latest) finds
she can hold them, hold
herself and in the world
she's made ("...people who made this
possible...") -- almost totally
still now, a breathless
white flame, so that
("...love you...")
she can have what she has made, be
maker ("...all so much!
thankyou! thankyou!")

copyright © 2005 by Dean Blehert

Last updated: March 2, 2005