Colette Jonopulos lives, writes, and edits in Eugene, Oregon. Her poetry has been or will be published in PMS, cho, Clackamas Literary Review, Crab Orchard Review, and In the Arms of Words: Poems for Disaster Relief, among others. She has a chapbook, The Burden of Wings, published by Rattlesnake Press, and a second, Enough of Daylight, published by Uttered Chaos Press. She is currently co-editor and publisher of Tiger’s Eye: A Journal of Poetry. She also works with individual writers through Tiger’s Eye Editing.
Crossing Into Roan’s World
Metal cars lined perfectly, the Dodge behind the Ford, behind
the Toyota, red-yellow-black, red-yellow-black, rubber tires
pointed forward in a stalled convoy. He’s strong, stronger than
his older brother, equally able to bring down a gathering of
Medieval knights with a sweep of his hand, or tenderly order
their helmeted bodies. While I stir noodles, he unlatches the
screen door, runs toward the street only to turn and hesitate
on the last inch of curb before I grab him around the waist, my
heart counting out erratic beats. His eyes take in the street, the
passing car, but he won’t look up into my face, ignores the
familiar voice carrying his name. I’d easily trade places to rest
behind his eyes, inside his puckish grin, turn within the spindrift
of his thoughts, his unknown rapid-fire words. He sometimes
strings words into decipherable sentences, mimics his brother, or
wordlessly deposits his sandals in front of me, both of us more
comfortable with gestures, with silence. A row of dinosaurs,
the brown T. rex beside the blue Iguanodon, beside the gray T. rex,
beside the blue Iguanodon—plastic figures with passive features
await their master’s instructions. His concentration breaks as
animated characters glide across the television screen, a movie he’s
seen before—his body eases toward the noise, each word accurately
repeated, each musical note lifted on lips identical to his mother’s;
his honeyed voice fills the air between us. As I listen, he looks
over his bare shoulder toward me; his eyes this time, find mine.
Hyperlexia Journal 