Janis And Grace

After a little too much wine,

I wandered into my back acre

where I discovered a rabbit hole.

I peeked in and saw it was dark,

but no way would I try to enter,

though I might have if I had been 

much smaller or the hole much larger.

I recalled the lusty, beautiful mayhem 

of the 1960s and remembered my crush 

of the era, Grace Slick, singing “White Rabbit.”

What a spine-tingling, powerhouse voice.

At the time, the song was mysterious to me— 

a white knight talking backwards?

a hookah-smoking caterpillar?

the pills that mother gives you?

That last one I think a push-back 

against the elder hypocrisies.

It wasn’t until 1968, after “White Rabbit,” 

that I finally read Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

What a curious, amazing place,

and what a trip Alice had. 

I wished I could have done that.

“White Rabbit” still gives me the chills.

And Janis Joplin, having nothing to do 

with rabbit holes in this sense, God bless her,

I don’t think she ever got her 

Mercedes-Benz or a color TV,

but that was the last song she recorded 

for her album, Pearl, before she died 

three days later in October, 1970.

Another tragic loss for the era.

Caught up in the mystery of nostalgia,

I poured more wine and looked

across the grasslands of my home.

Grace wasn’t here yet, but I could hear Janis, 

her passionate, raspy voice singing 

like her insides were shattering, letting loose 

into the wind pieces of her broken heart.

I raised my glass of wine.

Here’s to you both

and to what a time that was.

From: Memories Of Things Left Behind

Unpub. MS p. 37