As I drive home,
A few words pass me by
And a pair of smooth seductive phrases
Joking, pulling each other’s hair, running
They vanish in the dark.
“Will I see them again?” I wonder
A victorious giggling rings in the park by the sidewalk.
I feel left behind, empty, unwanted
As they loose themselves in the large bush
Behind the fences.
To dilute the pain of defeat
I get into attack posture
And break into a self-rebuking monologue
“You did it again!”
“Lost them”
“Go on! Cry!”
“Another grand moment of talking
“Lost before being born!”
“Go on! Cry!”
The self-teasing fails to amuse
I am angry
Mortally incomplete
I want all my giggling deserting words back
By the time I get out of the car
I am feeling somewhat better
Finding my way around in a delicious fantasy
The words are in the palm of my hands
I am gazing at them
In search of the space they hide inside
The space I discover with wonder
Every time I crack a word open.
And Every time I crack a word open,
It stretches before my feet
Into a road I have not taken before
Leading to some indescribable somewhere
I absolutely have to visit for myself.
The visit I don’t recall
But on that road
The shapeless, voiceless, withdrawing me
Finds her face and her feet
And walks right to the threshold of splintering far and wide
Eventually finding the courage
To come together in a song
And crystallize in the little space
The words have to offer.
A little give and take happens
-and some quarreling
As in all cohabitation
Leading to a union (of the Ibn al-Arabi sort
I would say)
Seeing the state you were always in
Only did not recognize!
And I am home
In a way I have never been before
Perfectly lost
Without the slightest urge
To look for a destination.
I am out of the driveway now
Walking into the house
The phone is ringing
The windows look anxious
I am already thinking about dinner
The words now
Have the chance of their lives to disappear
In their favorite spots
Behind the dirty plates in the washing machine
Or beneath the grated carrots in the salad bowl.
I let a dismissive mood take over
What is it with talking anyway?
That is so laden
With the threat of remaining undone?
So intertwined with the danger of never making it
Out of the silence
Into which it will sink back anyway.
I am grating carrots
With the fervor of an ancient warrior
In a defeated camp
Sharpening his rusty sword
For the decisive battle next dawn.
It is a late Friday afternoon
I walk back into my office exhausted.
Grabbing my briefcase to leave
I find a rare bird
Perched on my computer screen
-of all places!
Waiting to be lured in and described.
A wave of laughter goes through me,
As I lock the door to leave.
An intriguing bird!
A chance to talk!
And this time, not a single word will escape!
The bird is watching me drive home.
St. Louis, Oct.29, 2000