![]() ![]() ![]() The future is a vortex of possibilities: a car alarm siren, electronic bingo cages, being swallowed alive by a pink make-believe cottage.In this chapter, Obama alternates an account of the unusual campaign that ultimately resulted in his election as the junior Illinois senator with a discussion of the factors that have fostered an atmosphere of severe partisan division in Washington. The past is a place of transport: kitchens, the Saldi’s beagle, a brief affair, a matinee, punishment for having bought too many grapes. In it, she explores past and future relationships. “why i travel alone” is Joan Cappello’s reverie of pain and beauty, independence and the possible prices of one’s freedom. These are the linguistic translations of the body language of a desperate parakeet in a shop window, a mask stealing raccoon, and someone with a proclivity for finding happiness in a place they have never been, may never visit, will never live. They will leave you blinking and thinking, curious, and eager for more. Here’s one poem, dream (3), in its entirety: the audience has questions like how can I / speak with authority with your head in my lap? Heartbreak and humor create a casserole of raw emotion in this collection. Some lines could easily be part of a nightclub monologue. Elvis, Houdini, Jayne Mansfield, Sister Anastasia, Katherine Gibbs, Cousin Frankie, and Aunt Millie are just part of her poetry vernacular. Part standup, Cappello’s deadpan delivery recall that of early Charles Simic poems, with their surrealist twists: last night you slept in my cactus. The audacity of her ideas are what make why i travel alone fresh, animated in Sal’s Autobody Shop or in the midst of a troupe of Slavic Flamenco dancers, in places where bitcoin meets the periodic table exploding me into particles that no longer attach to anything. In a Joan Cappello poem anything can happen. ![]()
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