I was swept away,
he said, and I imagined
the size of the broom
that could gather me up
as if I were so much dust,
which I am. I imagined
whose great hand
would wield that broom.
And what else might
get caught up in that sweep?
And would I feel joy, or sheer terror,
or both, as I was whisked
from the world I know?
I was swept away, he said,
and what part of me longed
to hide beneath the couch,
fearful of such unmooring?
And what part of me
was jealous of him,
that darn near threw itself
into the path of that broom
just to feel that deeply moved,
that unable to resist the force,
that unable to do anything
but say yes to the world
and ride on that trajectory,
waving good bye to whoever
it was I thought I once knew.