Geppetto tells Pygmalion that Pinocchio has grown—
and all of him this time, not just his nose—
that just when he got used to having a real boy
around he had to let him go to become a real man.
Pygmalion sighs, exhale emboldening the steam
rising from the complimentary Folgers, unsure
if he has discovered yet what it means to be a real
man. Galatea left me, he confesses: She ran off
with that monster, Frankenstein’s boy. Geppetto
can only blink and say, Jiminy Cricket in response
and Have you tried wishing on a star? Pygmalion
scoffs, pities the old man who, he is sure, has never
made love to a woman and who is thus incapable
of understanding his loss, incapable of understanding
the thick panic he feels, imagining the rest of his life
spent not watching Galatea dress in the morning: light
trailing her hips, tracing her spine, puddling at her feet
like a shed robe. But think—comes Geppetto’s voice,
breaking through the memory—of what we created.
Out of plain and honest longing, out of absence: life,
dear carver: life out of extraordinary loneliness.
We are pleased to have Ms. Capra-Thomas host a 2-day poetry workshop this summer! Dates TBA. Information can be found on our website calendar, or call 802.310.5019!
