On the TV
by Wilda Morris

Here I sit in a darkening room,
Inside as the sun begins to sink, and
Jumpy because of the sounds coming from
King Kong on the television, turned
Low because my son knows I’d rather see a
Meadow like the one in Sound of Music
Near the convent where Maria learned to
Open her heart, not making Mother Superior
Proud, but realizing she was on a
Quest to find where she belonged in life.
Roses seemed to bloom in her chest,
Speckled birds began to sing, and a
Tree waved green leaves and dropped blossoms
Upon her head as she left to be a governess.

Very soon his movie will be over. He’ll get
Water or cola in a glass. I wish I could fly to the
Xi River, enjoy the karst landscape, the delta
Yonder, where it empties into the South China Sea.
Zip on out of here, I tell my son when King Kong is over
And let me pick a program. Maybe I’ll cross the
Border into Mexico or let Nova or a travelogue
Call me to Zimbabwe or Timbuktu. At least a
Dozen places invite me to visit before my life is
Ended, whether I purchase a ticket to fly or go
Free via movies or TV, whether or not I touch the
Ground with my feet or just let my spirit travel.




 

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