BE Poem By Sharon Bryan

A begat B begat C
and here we are at the depot,
surrounded by more baggage

than we could ever carry
alone, begirt, a little bedraggled,
but beguiled by what lies

before behind beyond us
and the power of a prefix
to make a noun a star:

bedecked, bedizened, bejeweled,
there must be something special
under all that finery, if only

a swirl of longing we’ve given
a name to, and a voice—why not,
we’re all born ventriloquists,

so good we feel betrayed
when the world won’t speak
for itself—but nothing escapes us,

no matter how far we fling it,
and we’re never entirely taken in
by trompe l’oeil and trompe l’oreille,

we’re proud of our double vision,
our ability to see and see through
the illusion—it’s just that

sometimes we’d like to close one eye,
and believe wholeheartedly in objects,
that don’t depend on us

for their definition, not a world
of absence but one in which
we’d have everything to lose.

Sharon Bryan
from Flying Blind