To balance a statue on the small of your back-

June 20, 2012 § Leave a comment

I sat by the water reading something by William Faulkner. I was easily distracted, not because it is sometimes hard to focus on Faulkner, even though it is, but because Faulkner makes me think of you. Not because you like him, even though you do, but because sometimes when I read Faulkner I find myself reading one phrase or one line over and over and I forget what is happening in the story. If I even knew what was really happening in the story to begin with. Give me just this one curl. I have forgotten you for this curl. What were we talking about? Oh yes, the story. But this place where your belly slopes from your hip. I must kiss it now. I am forgetting, forgetting.

And I could hear the water dreaming of what it was making, violently sculpting. The knife of nature, the river. But somehow peaceful, inviting even. Tempts you to put stones into your pockets. Take me with you, you want to say. Smooth my edges. I have so many rough spots.

And it became dark and I could no longer see the Faulkner so I just sat and listened to the water dreaming awake. And I thought of you in a sad and longing way, the way the river mourns the mountain that it cut those eons ago. Cut despite itself. It misses the mountain of course. But oh, look at this canyon. It too is beautiful. Not the end but the change that hurts so. But yet you do not always want the winter.

My owl-eyed fantast! Why did we not move to the coast and buy that fixer upper and make love in the late mornings and let the rain carry our thoughts to worriless pages. To have mixed my books with yours. I could have made peace with the possible. I could have learned to swim in time like a cold stream instead of just dipping my anxious toe. I do know how to swim. But to resist breathing underwater. The enticing whisper that beckons you to a dark place.

I regret everything. What I do and what I don’t do. The water and I, we know that this course was both inevitable and stochastic. But this does not dam the water the way it does me. I have collected into a large pool. When the wind is high, bits of me drip slowly onto the other side.

Give me just this one curl. I have forgotten you for this curl. My owl-eyed fantast. Come to me on this stony beach. It is very dark now. The rush of the river will drown our sighs of relief. The rocks, worn smooth from travel, will welcome our backs. Time is so present here. But we don’t have let it get to us. Come. Come now.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

What’s this?

You are currently reading To balance a statue on the small of your back- at Maps and Clocks.

meta

%d bloggers like this: