It happened fast: the building called; our first apartment together given to someone else; our keys handed over; the fees waived; the last lamp carried out; the light gone. Later that night we realized we couldnt zap ourselves back into the garage-- we wandered, at midnight, martini-light, around to an entrance we thought we might be able to break into. He ran ahead to chase a car though a suddenly opening door, leaving me for a moment on Market street, concrete in every direction, silent and frozen even though it had just rained-- and just at the moment I was really alone, I started to yell, so loud my voice is hoarse today-- GREG! GREG! LOOK! LOOK, GREG! LOOK! as a fox, mountain-dog-sized, ran at least fifteen miles an hour by me, casually sprinting, huge and long and calm and fast, something in its mouth. LOOK! LOOK! I screamed as softly as I could, running after it as it crossed the bus stop. I saw it, he said, I saw it, the same as me, breathless that in this concrete place things wild and magic could still streak through. We drove home silent, looking for the fox everywhere. It had run in the direction of our new house. I woke up dreaming that it lived on our roof; which maybe it does-- our new house, our new neighborhood, where now I know there could be foxes or unicorns or or praying mantises or moose anywhere, especially on very quiet nights when I dont quite know where my own half-wild life is running.
Posted on: Wed, 23 Apr 2014 15:54:37 +0000
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