Not in the physical sense as in, are you in your bedroom or soaking in the tub.
No, where is your mind at the end of your day?
Is it at peace, sated from a goodly stretch of the imagination? Are you edging closer, wanting to reach out for just a little bit more? Or do you feel hollow hearing echoes in the tunnel?
I cannot fathom where I have put my mind?
Have I hidden it somewhere and forgotten the pathways back?
Did I drop it down a sewer grating like my precious nickel at six.
Tripping on my own feet and watching it disappear out of sight or walking along, curb, sidewalk, up and down, curb, sidewalk, up, down, spot a shinny quarter.
Put gum on the end of a stick. The kid down the block playing stickball, big kids don’t let him hit. So he brought his broom handle and we chewed his smashed Double-Bubble.
I remember it felt good. The heat of the concrete against my belly. The sound of his breating in my ear. We never could get the damn thing.
It was fun for a while thinking how great it would be, to have a whole bright silver quarter all to myself.
Allow me, if you will, to give you something extraordinary to wrap your mind around at the end of the day …
Gwendolyn Elizabeth Brooks
To be in love
Is to touch with a lighter hand.
In yourself you stretch, you are well.
You look at things
Through his eyes.
A cardinal is red.
A sky is blue.
Suddenly you know he knows too.
He is not there but
You know you are tasting together
The winter, or a light spring weather.
His hand to take your hand is overmuch.
Too much to bear.
You cannot look in his eyes
Because your pulse must not say
What must not be said.
Shuts a door-
Is not there_
Your arms are water.
And you are free
With a ghastly freedom.
You are the beautiful half
Of a golden hurt.
You remember and covet his mouth
To touch, to whisper on.
Oh when to declare
Is certain Death!
Oh when to apprize
Is to mesmerize,
To see fall down, the Column of Gold,
Into the commonest ash.
After her, there is
Nothing left to say.