Brian Bielefeld's String Figures Poem

String Figures

what do you do when you want to learn something
and there is no one to teach you?

I remember from the grainy shadows of my youth
two girls passing a string back and forth
a string formed in changing patterns, cat’s cradle.

the cavernous anthropology section of the university library
row upon row, stack upon stack
I run my finger along the book bindings
not looking down I stumble
reach out for support
grab a book as I fall
“Aboriginal String Figures and How to Make Them”

That book became my teacher
I tie a length of string together
and go through page by page
“Jacob’s Ladder”
“Apache Door”
“Many Stars”
Follow the words
do opening “A”
step one
step two
drop the string off the little finger
insert the thumb
now do a Navajo Leap
So easy, but then I get to step five and I have to turn the page
I look at the book
then at my hands
the tangle of string trying to make a getaway
open my mouth
stick out my tongue
and go onto step six.

Brian Bielefeld'sTraffic Poem

traffic is heavy
intersection lights controlling
the lanes in all directions
one row of cars gets its turn
then another

the afternoon sun is warm
windows rolled down
I sit waiting to make my left turn
watching the screen of cars passing
in front of me
their left turn brings them
within a few feet of my eyes

faces pass
stories pass
a story in each face

jaws tight or relaxed
some smiling, some sad, some singing
one head hangs out the window
emulating his dog
the dog is smiling and so is he

one woman turning left
looking right, saying something
to the man sitting next to her
this is not a happy car

another story, then another

last in line, a Harley-Davidson
a woman, long auburn hair streaming
no helmet
a face at peace in this furious traffic
an ever so slight smile

in an instant
no, it was longer
a gasp for breath
and I fall deeply in love

they say that just before
you die, your life passes
before your eyes

I see my imagined life pass
along with that motorcycle
then the light changes
and I drive on