One of my favorite poems: On the Porch Swing I Imagined Us: Someday, some precious one of mine might find a fossil, an artifact of that place we once were, walked through, built, conquered and never forgot. In our youth, we thought our future would be a statue and filled with statues, holding up in storms, as stubborn as old earth to leaving despite the onslaught of pigeon shit, negative thought and much much worse. We believed wed stay through others poor choices: deaths, accidents, or divorces of those whod run anaerobic to the slope of our sheltering dromedary shoulder. We imagined fixing this porch swing time after time after time, so many times in fact, the act becomes a photograph, where sometimes were complaining, sometimes singing, but nevertheless, always repeating. Repeating. Sure as a calendar With a sequin moon justified on a right collar of sky, stuck fast like a moth on a pin on black velvet we study for consecutive, light years and know like an accumulation of basic math laid down upon a charming learning curve. There will be no such scrapbooks here, scientific or romantic. We do not turn to each other now, knowingly in the car or frantic for help or for good like the dream of our youth foretold, but the clenched fossil of us doesnt hurt, the only law has worn its jagged edges down, and when I do casually turn my head to the you I knew before you hitchhiked down another road, you have become my Esmerelda, proud bone backed off with no more teeth to bite or line of jaw to tense or sunken eye to draw me in and hold me close on this porch swing I imagined us. Now, all thats left wanting, beyond the throw of this wise old swing, in a few more elements to break us down to dust, and our first vacation on a warm, stiff south wind.
Posted on: Tue, 19 Nov 2013 02:04:50 +0000
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