Archive for June, 2010
We held on like waltzers and spun until springtime came.
And I have the photograph, but what are we left with?
Not the nights of hookah smoke,
or the summer months we washed the sheets four times a week,
nor that time at the market, when you confused plums with grapes and your tongue swelled,
nor when the fridge broke and we put all our food in the snow.
What was it? A month like that? Fishing out pasta from newly fallen flakes.
We told ourselves it tasted better.
That cabin is gone too, the time you fell and bled from your knee, saying it’s fine, it’s fine, and then passing out before we got home.
And none of it’s there. Not even your dimples. See?
Her nose pressed against my collarbone, her eyes open.
She looked over my shoulder, cartilage against bone.
“You’ve no idea how to love, do you?” I said.
“Sure I do. Just flap your arms and say ‘choo choo,’” her voice went up. “Right?”
“Yeah, that’ll work,” I said.
Just a hint now,
Of thunder clouds in the evening sky.
On summer wind,
The scent flies off the old man’s house.
Decay. His life just a dream.
His garden now belongs to butterflies.
And I realize,
The still lake does not need to think to offer
Itself as home to clear moonlight.
“I blame it on you,” she said with her hand in my back pocket. “If you hadn’t spun that ash tray on the counter…”
“Sure, just go ahead and let the ash tray off the hook,” I said.
I don’t know when being asked to leave became a badge of honor for us, but tonight was nothing new. We had tried to talk each other down. This is a small town, we’d say. We can’t just go all willy nilly.
Leaving New York makes you appreciate the honesty of strangers, albeit brutal.
But it was late for here, and the streets were quiet. She stumbled on the curb and for the first brief second, it seemed contrived. Her laughter ricochet off nothing and I felt a shhh come to my lips.
That night, I opened and closed the medicine cabinet in the bathroom just to hear the hinges creek. Open, close, open, close, each time catching my own eyes in the reflection. Go back to bed, I thought. And the night got long, quick.
Two roads diverged and I took the one less traveled by?
When have there only been two roads?
I feel like I have more doors open than a Canadian neighborhood in summertime.
I gotta remember, at least I’m still walking, and hey, there’s still a few arrows here and there.
And it occurred to me last Friday — or was it Thursday?
Right when the last years ended,
and the planets became misjuggled,
wet dog still smells like wet dog,
and the fireflies still light up a field at night,
but what really occurs never happens in public view.
Yet there are still the people who make the most intricate plans.