Epp & Grabill – May 2013

Joanne Epp and Vin Grabill exchanged art and words. Vin shared this giclee print, “Ghost Riders,” with Joanne:

In response, Joanne wrote this poem:

Overhead

Not far overhead everything moves
with the freedom of light, the speed of radio waves
through ether. On this endless Saturday morning
you disappear in the search for a parking space, while above
your neglected imagination rides on sharpened wings.
The sound when it snapped loose was the ting
of a dentist’s probe on a tooth. You thought it was
a Coke can falling from the dash. You turn off the radio.
It’s all bad news. Overhead, not far, a white grocery bag
parachutes off-kilter in the wind. Its upside-down logo
says Safe, and you choose to believe it. Later,
here’s what will happen: while you pace the long rows
in search of your car, your imagination, now unfettered,
will cruise the electromagnetic spectrum, try out a wave,
see where it goes. And you, down below, will be conscious
of weather closing in. Clouds not far overhead.
The part of you that’s escaped will drift on a thermal,
make friends with alien beings. You— a shadow
behind tinted glass— will be watched. While you reach
for the gearshift, check mirrors, wonder how
to get out of here, they’ll make plans to take you
on an inter-dimensional ride. They will read
the blink of your taillights as a yes.

* * * * *

Joanne shared this poem with Vin:

The Lost One

The dreams told her something had happened.
Some nights she heard her mother talk
about the time before her birth:
We were so close, you and I, and then
when you were born something was gone—
and when she woke all that remained
was the one word gone.

Other nights it was different:
an old friend, a lover disappearing
silently around a corner.
Her house, emptied. Walls blank,
closets bare.
In the dreams she wrote words with missing letters,
said full and heard empty.
In the dreams she could never say child.

In response, Vin made this giclee print, entitled “Directed Youth:”