The prose poem “Dear Mayor” by Massachusetts poet Pamela Wax immerses us in layers of spiritual practice, grief, loss, and longing. The surprise ending, with its humorous undertones, paints a gleaming silver lining and what is a quite serious work of poetry. It pulls the punch just enough to leave us on our feet, stunned.
Dear Mayor
Taught to use “I” statements, I’ll start by saying how hard it is—for me—to sit on my butt and meditate for stretches of time. I prefer meditation in motion, like when I swim into that flow—a fish in its proverbial waters, no thought, not even a self. But only in retrospect, or I end up in a self-conscious paradox. Only later I realize I’ve just spent an hour suspended and timeless, a version of the time-space continuum, if I’m getting my Einstein right. (His likeness hung wild-haired over the piano in Aunt Helen’s living room next to Uncle Sidney, so I’d hate to misinterpret him.) Perhaps you know this zone of which I speak, the gift of it, the grace. How it feels devotional, like a supplicant immersing, aware of the balance struck between breath and death, purification and annihilation. I think a lot about this (death and annihilation, that is), seeing how my brother drowned from psychological undertow. But I swim anyway/in spite of/because. So I’m curious about your plans to re-open the community pool. Please advise, Beached Whale
Pamela Wax
Pamela Wax is the author of Walking the Labyrinth (Main Street Rag, 2022) and Starter Mothers (Finishing Line Press, 2023). Her poems have received two Best of the Net nominations and awards from Crosswinds, Paterson Literary Review, Poets’ Billow, Oberon, and the Robinson Jeffers Tor House. Some of her other publications include Barrow Street, Tupelo Quarterly, The Massachusetts Review, Chautauqua, The MacGuffin, Nimrod, Mudfish, Valparaiso Poetry Review, Epiphany, and Slippery Elm. An ordained rabbi, Pam offers spirituality and poetry workshops online and around the country. She lives in the Northern Berkshires of Massachusetts.