Saturday, February 20, 2010

December Morning Poem

Below a scarf of snow
the ground has ceased to shudder.
With a heartbeat slow as sunrise,
it sleeps as if beneath glass.
My breath ruffles solemnly
into the fishbowl air.

I tap
my feet,
the whole world rings.

Halves

If Jack and Rose had spent less time kissing
they might have made it to a lifeboat.
They could have both survived. Nothing
keeps a sinking ship from going under.

It still feels unnatural to have breakfast alone,
to stop myself from thinking to grab two forks
and spreading hot sauce on what would have been your half.

Remember the night we missed three busses
in a row, the last lifeboats of the night, and we
were so cold and tired and you
were so mad, and then we met those people with the telescope
who showed us the moon.
In that dancing lens there hung an unbelievable
white city, frozen and old as a glacier.
I saw that teeth-white orb more clearly
than anything on earth.

If Romeo and Juliet had thought things through
they might have made it,
but at least Juliet never had to see that half-empty
bottle of hot sauce on the shelf
every single day.

Holes in the Prairie

The night I watched you dance alone
the floor between us sank into a valley
of certain and impassible hours.
Your hands, as they patted the darkness so near,
flew far beyond my grasp,
even if I had stood and danced
we would not have been dancing together.

As children we ran through woods unafraid
of pathlessness,
with leaves like feathers against our faces.
We could not be lost, not in summer,
branches were made to hold us.
We must be as children again, soap-clean,
not touching,
and while I want you sleeping beside me
I do not want
to wake beside you naked anymore.

There are no songs of this particular regret,
of this one lonesomeness,
the knowing that our friends
must only be our friends.
Just as crows must eat the dead.

And prairies must be burned to bloom.

Things must be as they are.
We must walk in the dark,
I must watch you dance,
We must be as we have been,
ourselves, apart.
The certainty of this return
is a shudder of relief.