Literary Magazine

Someplace Beautiful | Stephani Maari Booker

The glare of fluorescent bulbs

The bland of white walls

And the blah of tiled floors

Are not the last things I want to see.

 

The beep of a monitor

The drone of a TV set

And the buzz of white noise

Are not the last things I want to hear.

 

The chill of conditioned air

The scratch of starchy sheets

And the grasp of paid caretakers

Are not the last things I want to feel.

 

The tang of antiseptic soap

The sting of alcohol wipes

And the burn of my own piss

Damn sure ain’t the last things

I want to smell.

 

The last thing I want to smell

is the sweet of sagebrush

or the savory of the Great Lake

or the salt of the eastern sea

 

The last thing I want to feel

is the warmth of a western sun

or the soft of island sand

or the plush of woodland moss

 

The last thing I want to hear

is the chatter of songbirds

or the rush of white rapids

or the crackle of fallen leaves

 

The last thing I want to see

is the majesty of ancient timber

or the mystery of desert stone

or the magic of tropical blooms

 

The last place I want to be

is anyplace

that is someplace

beautiful.


Stephani Maari Booker of Minneapolis, Minnesota, writes prose and poetry for the page and for performance in which she wrestles with her multiple marginalized identities: African American, lesbian, lower-class, nerdy and sexy. She holds an MFA from Hamline University of St. Paul, MN and is a contributing editor for the African American newspaper Minnesota Spokesman-Recorder.