Stephen Balut
cobalt infinity
Abstract
I weld. I paint. I speak French, Bambara. I sleep with windows open, fly single engine airplanes. I have crafted coffee tables from wood, a candelabrum from scrap metal, a chain link bookshelf. I am a certified forklift operator, orient myself to the West. I have milked a cow, named a Malian child after my mother. I embrace emotion. I read fiction, physics, philosophy. I have cultivated cotton, beans, peanuts, millet. I decipher color. I make campfires, snowballs, brown sugared squash. I have discovered a comet (the Hale-Bopp-Balut), named a constellation. I have tutored mathematics, taught English. I cannot cook well, eat mostly soup, I love soup, even the word: soup. I talk with strangers. My dad usually beats me in scrabble, he’s smart, I did beat him once in chess though. I don’t dance often enough. I can play “Oh, Susanna” on the harmonica, sing horribly, unless I’m in the shower, then I’m mellifluous. I own plants, a globe, pencils. I do not own a television. I am a premium member of dictionary.com (you can be too for $20 a year). I’ve watched the sun rise purple on Pikes Peak, thick and hazy over Angkor Wat. I have three sisters, five nephews, and two nieces, they all call me “Deece,” except for one niece. I have ridden a camel in Timbuktu, hiked an Inca trail to Machu Picchu. I have patiently waited for a glimpse of the green flash, searched for the snow star at Qoyllur Rit’i, been mesmerized by eclipses. I’ve dizzily pretended to two-step at a honky-tonk in Texas. I walk in the rain, refuse to use an umbrella, I get wet. At present, the deep blue sky of nautical twilight is my favorite color. I sculpt. I nurture passion. I have loved, still love.
I hope. I grow.
I learn
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