Fancy Cortex.

(Reading Jayne Cortez)

I'm using my plain brain to imagine her fancy cortex. As if my lowly mollusk could wear so exalted a mantle as her pontifex pallium. As if the knots and tangles of my twisted psyche could mesh with her intricate synaptic network of condensed neural convolutions. As if my unschooled shoals could reckon the calculus of her conk's brainwave tsunami. As if my simple chalk could fossilize the memory of her monumental reefs of caulifloral coral. As if the pedestrian software of my mundane explorer could map as rounded colonies the terra incognita of her undiscovered hemispheres. As if the speculative diagnosis of my imaging technology could chart the direction of her intuitive intellect. As if the inquisitive iris of my galaxy-orbiting telescope could see as far as her vision. As if the trained nostrils of my narco-bloodhound could sniff out what she senses in the wind. As if my duty-free bottle of jerk sauce could simulate the fire ant picante that inflames her tongue of rage. As if her divergent universification might fancy the microcosm of my prosaic mind.

An interview with author Harryette Mullen appears elsewhere in this issue. Among her publishing credits are five books of poems, including Tree Tall Woman (1981), Trimmings (1991), S*PeRM**K*t (1992), Muse & Drudge (1995), and Sleeping With the Dictionary (2000).