Super-Power Delusions.

I’m a Buffy fan, and once in a while, not often, but once in a while I have these dreams — don’t we all have these unspoken assumptions, when watching shows like Buffy or Heroes that we would be one of the strong ones, whatever the struggle, we’d triumph & survive. So sometimes I have these superhero-type dreams, and I had one the other night:

Every year about this time an Epic Battle is waged between the forces of Good & Evil. Good always wins, but is not without losses. I am, naturally, on the team of Good, and we usually gather a day before the expected Arrival of Evil. Apparently we have no other contact but for the Battle. We don’t call beforehand, meet for coffee & comparisons of our crime-fighting year, or schedule the Battle. It’s a given.

But this year, as the Hour approaches, there are only 3 of us. It seems to have occurred to the other forces for Good that their number could be up should they engage in yet another Epic Battle, and they’ve decided to err on the side of caution & stay home this year. And I’m beginning to feel seriously screwed. Sure, I have super-powers (unfortunately & strangely unidentified), but there are only 3 of us against All of Evil.

As Emma might say, oh dear goodness.

We pace, we mutter, one of us (not me) cried, and time passed without the Arrival of Evil. One of us (not me) checked her Blackberry, and then laughed nervously.

We’d gotten the date wrong. Armageddon isn’t actually due for another month, tra-la!

I think there might be something deeply wrong with me.

Kimberley Rogers.

As promised, I have a poem by Kimberley Rogers, she who so recently graced us with a powerful reading at the Collected Poets Series, to share. I love this poem, and not just because I am done done done with winter. Its verve is infectious and just plain fun! Enjoy:

Neon Daisies #8

Neon daisies—dozens of them—
food-dye drunk, splashed heads jostling
in paper, showing shoppers fringy upturned skirts;
spooned leaves gesturing.
Violet fevered, lapis–lipped, coral rouged.
Butter suns! Inflorescent pastiche!
Little exhibitionists at the electric threshold!

I’ll take three bunches for my mantle.