The Absence of Wavelength

Pin-Wheel

Red-and-White Pinwheel

Wind turbine, lone pin-wheeling,
anchored silent in thick grass,
on your horizontal axis.
I glimpsed with a curious eye,
you, geometric wonder.

Your curved plastic cups blading
invisible molecules of air invading.
Compulsion counterclockwise and colorful,
swirl on, raised by gripped straw,
guided by the young hand.

About our lonely yard, natural
By Newton-force law, actual
peculiar propeller,
torque motion blaze amazing
to her sole child dreamer.

In youth haste, neglectfully placed
on the driveway night to morn.
Swept and thrown by lightning storm,
anguishing black nights spent alone,
when in full sun, reborn.

She found you in tender green,
Under a flock of ladies —
stoic tulips, vegetal hyacinth.
Lying down the groceries,
considered you with a frown.

Anew, skewered you in her ground
to compare within the garden, join
a bright array of swooning blooms.
Life consumed a pale plastic,
brittle-cracked in harsh elements.

Factory-shaped skin eroded.
Eager pinwheel, head above weed,
carved on, funneled flows unseen
churning, turned over and over.

         ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

How many years has it been?
Winters in snow, frozen in melt,
long starved seasons rigid
with sweet reunion this spring thaw

How you reappear again
Stationed in wait, surviving amid
decay, blades thin, worse for wear
before lips pursed blow
that first burst of air —

miraculous rotation
with wisp wings longingly lifted.
In my grip, take one last spin,
sluice the inhaled flowage,
dream and run with your boy.

Your foils wobble, a bit slower
than recalled, and smaller.
Of all our days logged behind
her old house, now this…the best. 

I’m scratching my head again.
Dreams as your aviator
recalled, as my heart climbs now
nearer to Heaven. Savior
Mom, see? My cherished pinwheel.

         ~ ~ ~

I would grin another day.
at her desk, writing your ode.
When opened the jammed drawer
to rummage in her clutter

Oh, pinwheel! She missed our games.
I peruse the words on a page,
The final note to us from her:

So much depends
upon the striped pin
wheel, inhaling air
in its dividing house,

comparing to my
brightest tulips
that flex and swoon,
where it anchors
while he’s been away.

Your breaths send back
every thrust, a pretty twirl —
his tiny turbine engine
that made giants of men.

He didn’t forget you
in weed I failed to spade,
certain of your grip
amid chill-white pilings

year in and out,

Tulips and hyacinth
forever sleep beneath
before I join soon too
in June, the last station.

Sorry you can't tag along.
He'll find you, I'm sure.
So much did depend on you,
that breathes inside of him.

Tell him how wonderful
to have you as companion,
that I love him, dearly,
with wind that sends us back.

         ~ ~

That's my pinwheel, childhood friend.
Lies in keepsakes; never bury,
but with me goes, at the end.

          ~

96 lines, free verse, poem within a poem, story poem
WCW inspired reference



“You may have noticed that your pinwheel looks like a wind turbine. That's because they are in a way! The colorful wheel has “blades” that spin counterclockwise when air passes through it. The blades are three dimensional and act as “cups” to capture the air so that they can move with the power of the wind.”

https://discoverystation.org/pinwheel-wind-turbines/#

“Objects rotate due to the application of a torque or rotational force, which is often caused by an external influence. In more detail, rotation in physics is a movement that occurs when a force is applied not at the center of mass of an object, but at a distance from it. This force is known as torque.”

https://www.tutorchase.com/answers/ib/physics/what-causes-objects-to-rotate#

"Musical Poetry"