Sauna Poetics & Nirvana Vibe
Sauna Poetics
When you look at me
you can’t see
of the waves of agony
that simmer under my skin:
as I sit sweating beneath
infrared lights which
are able to dissolve
toxins out of me
in the same way a lobster
would do it when it is lowered gently
into its own boiling water.
My bones choked and ravaged
with malignant cells
to face another day
as I struggle and wonder
if I’ll ever set the table for my five
grandchildren again
or linger in Hawaii’s healing waters.
Nirvana Vibes
the name of my teen hangout.
Stepping through its beaded doors
was like walking into a time cloud—
musky scent of patchouli incense,
marijuana whiffs and hashish pipes
by color within glass cabinets.
The owners: a hippie
and his bead-laden, long-haired girl,
VW van parked behind with paisley cloth
window covering and a bumper sticker saying,
‘when this van’s rocking, don’t come knocking.’
The store with black lights,
psychedelic peace signs,
a private room in back
with alerting wind chimes
to sample pipes. Besides, mirrored velour dresses—
only peaceful but rebellious visitors:
barefoot and groovy may enter.
My favorite Beatles songs blared
through black speakers
in each corner.
‘Let it Be,’ instilling instant calm.
Nirvana Vibes was the safe haven
where my fifteen-year-old self thrived,
protected from screaming, battling parents,
cold TV dinners of fried chicken,
mashed potatoes and sugar-soaked peaches.