Seems like the right week for a reprise of this little ditty (as I once again file an extension).


Letter to the IRS

Every year I promise myself and the government that I
will not file an extension.
That I will be a good citizen and get my taxes in on
time.
Every year, I make the same promise.  Every year, I file the same extension.
Dear IRS,
I had every intention . . .
I was bent to the task,
pen to the paper,
face to face with those forms –
And then sang a summons, such sweet invitation,
Algerian finger chimes, fairies, ethereal pipes.
A daydream come to dance,
holding warm cups of wonder to pour on my head.
“Not now,” I said.
Bills piled in baskets, receipts on
the floor.
I never take calls when the bottom
line’s dead at the door. 
I implored that dream —
Come, take my hand, dance me, not lightly, sure palm at my
back.
Let’s stomp the lights black and blue, bop bip be do,
swing song some slow notes, swollen long low notes,
hold along oh notes, slowly with me.
But after I scour the mail
for what’s been bought where
for how much and how many.
After all dues and
subscriptions are entered, recorded with salaries, commissions.
After I’ve checked each
check’s balancing act, please –
Blow bliss down my back till I rise and arch into the soft
kiss of maybe.
Whisper my ears,
run your hands down my sides
till I reach for the moon. 
Soon.
As soon as I stack and arrange last
year’s leftover dust,
gather the details the daily dog
scattered beside of his bowl.
Counting in columns, red and black
slaloms down dry paper crinkles,
straighten the wrinkled statistics,
specifically –
Closer, come closer, sweet, delicate breath on my face
help me erase all this data,
after I cross
this desert of detail –
douse me with moisture,        
corsage me, delight
            Not till
I’m finished
            then –
take me lavender dancing, scarves in the wind
Hold me with honey, all the law will allow.
Move me.  Moonbeam
me.  Fudge sauce, whip cream me.
Dance along dream me.
Hold me.
            Not now?

Sincerely                                                         

©1999 Sara Holbrook, Isn’t
She Ladylike
, Collinwood Media/Bottom Dog Press ALL RIGHTS RESERVED                             

One response to “”

  1. "Holding cups of wonder …" Love this poem, your turn of phrase, and the fact that HOLBROOK POWER will not be denied!

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