The stream of consciousness bears us forward
Today, pondering whether
to put panties on to go to
the store, I remembered
(as we all do) our mothers' warnings
about accidents, and, too,
Angie's mourning the cut-up
pieces of her favorite pjs
returned to her when she
checked out of the hospital
after her heart attack
Running her hands over the
pieces of pink silk,
weeping. Not often did
that life have pink silk in it
to put panties on to go to
the store, I remembered
(as we all do) our mothers' warnings
about accidents, and, too,
Angie's mourning the cut-up
pieces of her favorite pjs
returned to her when she
checked out of the hospital
after her heart attack
Running her hands over the
pieces of pink silk,
weeping. Not often did
that life have pink silk in it
Earlier, an old friend had
sent news of an old friend's
suicide. The summer after
Edwin died. I suppose I thought
after his death that no one else
could ever die. . . .
sent news of an old friend's
suicide. The summer after
Edwin died. I suppose I thought
after his death that no one else
could ever die. . . .
One can blow one's brains out
in an apartment in Greenwich Village
if one wishes. But must use a
shotgun, because of gun laws.
in an apartment in Greenwich Village
if one wishes. But must use a
shotgun, because of gun laws.
About Ron: I knew him
when he was the "Mad Scarf"
of Taliaferro Hall ~~ our resident
poet-ghost walker. His nose always
running into that magnificent mustache.
The red scarf a banner, a talisman.
I knew him before he was Liam, before
any of the three wives, before the daughter
before NYC. Before he learned to play the system,
before cancer, before heart problems (he never had problems loving).
All he was when I knew him was one of the very best poets.
It was not enough.
when he was the "Mad Scarf"
of Taliaferro Hall ~~ our resident
poet-ghost walker. His nose always
running into that magnificent mustache.
The red scarf a banner, a talisman.
I knew him before he was Liam, before
any of the three wives, before the daughter
before NYC. Before he learned to play the system,
before cancer, before heart problems (he never had problems loving).
All he was when I knew him was one of the very best poets.
It was not enough.
As I near 70, all the deaths
might weigh me down, were they
what I remember most. But what I
remember is the love ~~ that
they lived, were joy, and found a
home in my heart.
might weigh me down, were they
what I remember most. But what I
remember is the love ~~ that
they lived, were joy, and found a
home in my heart.
jjl
1 August 2009
2 comments:
This touches me in so many ways, but most of all in the memories that lie within each of our hearts and souls as we stop to ponder.
I'm reminded of the poem ....
Look for the stars, you’ll say that there are none;
Look up a second time, and, one by one,
You mark them twinkling out with silvery light
And wonder how they could elude the sight
…..William Wordsworth
Ah! And how did this note elude me for 10 days?
The Wordsworth is lovely, and thank you and I love you, you know?
Post a Comment