Odyssey in the Afternoon by Lynn White
I remember that day of the voyage
from the moment the dawn rose
out of the golden globe
and stretched out
pink fingered roses
into the blue
of the morning,
without knowing
what was to come after,
in the afternoon
when the wind took us
to a strange land.
But I embraced its strangeness
and its indolent contented people
who showed me the lotus
and smiled
as I bit into the delight
of its flowers and fruits,
savoured
its dreamy sensations
with no need to wonder
what would to come after,
there were only afternoons,
forever afternoons.
But the moment
when I woke,
shook myself awake,
I dragged us all away
out of fear of forgetting,
forgetting where I’d come from,
forgetting where I should go
and before
I forgot to leave that place
with it’s sopheristic days
of perpetual afternoon.
And in the evening
as night fell
to envelop me
stretching out
its grey blanket
and touching me with black,
I wondered
if I would I even remember
sniffing the fragrance
of the flowers
and tasting fruit
alive with the sleepy sensations
of the days of afternoons.
I have already forgotten
to wonder
what came after.