Dynamite

Wine Press NorthwestMarch 7, 2013 

Jordan Chaney is the Poet Laureate of the Northwest Wine Industry.

At first
I was blown to pieces
like the delicate ghosts of dandelions
being blown away by a spring breeze.

Our memories drifted swiftly,
the way dreams do upon waking,
the way that waves crash into
the shore
withdraw
then fade gently
back out to sea

I was in disbelief

But when the reality really hit me
I damn near drowned in my own wine
and tears.
I crumbled to my knees like sky-scrapers
in free fall after an atomic blast
my world was changing
It devastated me because
my only rescue team
was she and there was nobody
there to cradle the crater burning the
hell sized hole at the center of me
I was left to choke on the smoke
at my ground zero soul

The rubble of reality caved me in.
I couldn’t see; I could hardly breathe.

And worst of all the pain
was telling me not to believe
in love anymore.

The very same pain also told me
to go ahead and grow cold for a spell
and leave my heart hanging on the vine
to freeze.

Pain said that sometimes,
when you hang on in the cold times
you tend to grow sweeter...
and I received confirmation
in becoming a true love believer
when my good friend Quinn
said to me

“Love and hope are the stubborn
cockroaches that will survive the
heartbreak apocalypse.”

So call me an ice-wine
call me a cockroach
because I’m a survivor
growing sweeter on the vine
in the aftermath

and even though I’ve been
crushed I’m not giving up

I still believe in love

I believe in love the way
that Science believes in Big Bang
the way Christians believe in
the 2nd coming and God’s Reign
and the way most of my hippy friends
believe in horoscopes, fortune cookies,
nag champa and just about every other
mystical thing they come across...

I cross my heart and hope to die
this time I am taking my time
and I’m not stopping until
I find a stick of dynamite
I want her to be able
blast away all of my rubble,
the megaliths, for her to have
intelligence and fashion sense,
she’s gotta love Walla Walla,
just to list a few pre-requisites,
I’m looking for a full bodied belle
with cherry red lips coated
in lip-gloss like nitroglycerine
powder keg legs and banging hips!

I’m talking TNT!
she’ll be gun powder
from her bangs to her feet

she’ll be a bombshell
and a fall out shelter
built for romance
and retreat

A woman whose force is so mighty
that it completely clears the caved
in rubble away, a love so full
of might and light that it puts
the punch back into my fight
the pulse back into my life.

A fair muse that casts out
her fuse for me to light.
And I’ll fight spiders to the death
for her in the middle of the night
all for love
for dynamite

If her and I meet
in the middle of the night,
then we will be
two lamp posts
softly casting our street light
onto one another.
Equally illuminating each other.
And I am a realist
So I know that we
may wane and flicker
but together our fluorescence
will still grow bigger
in the stillness…

Because falling in love
is like coming up for air.
I’m searching for dynamite
even in light of the fact that
something so powerful has
been known to be fatally unstable.
I still believe that love is out
there beyond the rubble and
it will handle this stubborn
cockroach with care…

Jordan Chaney is a spoken-word poet who lives in the heart of Washington wine country.

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