Sunday, July 24, 2022

Watching Her Readjust

Are you the one. What is a hemlock but shadow and light. Bad things happened behind the barn, there was only one law there. Oh swallows please don't ever stop filling the sky.

It's a bad dream getting better? How at a late juncture one is dragged kicking and screaming into enlightenment. Loaves of bread nobody touches. I was saved on a river bank, I was given another chance.

Part of me will always be homeless, always be a reckless drunk, always be lonelier than intended or desired. Folding the quilt we laid on the floor, watching her readjust her sundress. Black bean soup at a little restaurant in Putney. You say you'll make coffee and yet you don't make coffee, what's up.

Often while driving west I will catch a glimpse of Greylock and feel a sense of impossibility that is somehow comforting, is this what I want. Watching boxing matches on Youtube, remembering Joyce Carol Oate's book on the subject, back when I desperately needed an argument violence was okay. Rainbows over the far hills. And in my throat now, a great blue heron, wading through shallows in service to hunger.

We make sense of things, best we can, and limp on. Apple-shaped suncatchers, half a dozen prisms. The tests come back negative, which is positive, and I can't work out how I feel, which frightens me a little. All we need is someone to walk with us home, why is this so hard.

No comments:

Post a Comment