Late Spring Carnival Thoughts

by Chessy Normile

---

From my bike I beheld goslings. Ho ho!
Then passed through a tunnel of trees
filled with floating white fluff and thought,
Is this the fluff of goslings?

It was like light snow
drifting in and out of the shade
so miraculous, so much of it. 

I may have opened 
my mouth in awe 
and swallowed some.

Later, I saw this fluff again, fallen now
in snowbanks along the edges of the path 
and realized it came more likely from a plant. 
Could even be called “pollen.”

I’m going to a carnival tonight. Remember that?
The mystery of an empty lot
suddenly writhing with lights and metal, braces and pop?
I will shoot the water pistol until the hangman drops.

Wait,
are you even attending a carnival if your sister’s not with you?

Both of you wishing the other was a boy with gelled hair,
but then seeing what those boys were capable of—
swinging stunned goldfish in puffed up bags of water—
you felt grateful for each other?

The fuzz in the air today, 
it’s like a memory of powdered sugar,
but nothing like powdered sugar really.

All this painful beauty—
the rainbow lights spinning the darkness,
the path you bike along in your thirties
in a green shirt you bought at Kohl’s,
I don’t really know... This is seasonal.
It’s a stinging presence. It’s so Late May.

I’m writing this all down outside 
while a sparrow struggles
to swallow a long, green worm.
Both are overwhelmed by the experience. 

There’s no point in telling you any of this, 
of course, we both know that
and we both know who you are,
both understand that this call 
is coming from inside the house
and that the house is inside a carnival, 
haunted and rocking on its foundation.

---

Chessy Normile is the author of Great Exodus, Great Wall, Great Party (2020 APR/Honickman First Book Prize) and currently lives in Madison, WI.