Into Arrival by Anne Michaels It will be in a station with a glass roof grimy with the soot of every train and they will embrace for every mile of arrival. They will not let go, not all the long way, his arm in the curve of her longing. Walking in a city neither knows too well, watching women with satchels give coins to a priest for the war veterans; finding the keyhole view of the church from an old wall across the city, the dome filling the keyhole precisely, like an eye. In the home of winter, under an earth of blankets, he warms her skin as she climbs in from the air. There is a way our bodies are not our own, and when he finds her there is room at last for everyone they love the place he finds, she finds, each word of skin a decision. There is earth that never leaves your hands, rain that never leaves your bones. Words so old they are broken from us, because they can only be broken. They will not let go, because some love is broken from love, like stones from stone, rain from rain, like the sea from the sea.
Posted on: Sat, 22 Nov 2014 07:39:13 +0000
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