Week 18

I need to write
with a pen that erases
and it's not because I'm inconsistent.

I always think three sentences ahead
and what comes out is a jumble
of thoughts and ideas and numbers
that wouldn't make sense to you
or me, give or take three days.

I like writing you letters
but sometimes I have nothing important to say.
The "I love yous" get lost
because I need to follow it up with "I miss you"
and "I hope for the world for you"
and what ends up being written is
"I and you".

What more needs to be said, really?

Week 17

There is this uncertainty
between you and me,
as if the thread that binds us
is so very delicate and thin.
I can barely see it
wrapped around me and you,
and the music is playing
and keeps on playing so we dance.

I tread more carefully than you do.
My steps are cautious
but direct and firm.
"Stop twirling," I said,
"you'll break it."
You didn't hear me
or at least you pretended not to,
you danced and danced away.

How scared I was
that our connection would dissipate
in an instant.
One second tied together,
the next, you have floated away
to a different planet
while I stayed here
waiting, watching, wanting.

Somehow, you are still here
and I am still here.
Maybe I should let go,
sink into this moment,
trust this fragile thread that binds us and survives us,
move in time with you
and perhaps without you.
I know I will make it anyway.

It's just that I would rather risk less,
stay here silently,
frozen in time
with you.

In Passing

From a half block off I see you coming,
walking briskly along, carrying parcels,
furtively glancing up into the faces
of people approaching, looking for someone
you know, holding your smile in your mouth
like a pebble, keeping it moist and ready,
being careful not to swallow.

I know that hope so open on your face,
know how your heart would lift to see just one
among us who remembered. If only someone
would call out your name, would smile,
so happy to see you again. You shift
your heavy parcels, hunch up your shoulders,
and press ahead into the moment.

From a few feet away, you recognize me,
or think you do. I see you preparing your face,
getting your greeting ready. Do I know you?
Both of us wonder. Swiftly we meet and pass,
averting our eyes, close enough to touch,
but not touching. I could not let you know
that I’ve forgotten, and yet you know.

Ted Kooser

Looking at the Stars

I still think about the shepherds, how many stars
They saw. We owe our love of God to these sheep
That had to be followed, or companioned, all night.
One can’t just let them run. By midnight

The stars had already become huge talkers.
The Parent sits in her proud Chair, and is punished.
The Dog follows the Hunter. Each time a story ends
There is such a long pause before another begins.

Those of us who are parents, and getting older,
Long, as tonight, for our children to stand
With us, looking at the stars. Here it is,
Eight thousand years later, and I still remember.

Robert Bly

Week 16

"I got you," he said,
one hand across my back,
my anchor
as he moved his fingers within.
So I leaned back
and stopped trying to hold myself up.
I felt his fingers across my ribs
and for a second,
I let myself trust someone else.
It was a weird feeling,
an out of body experience.
I didn't have to stand,
I didn't have to breathe,
I didn't have to do anything but let myself be.

Week 15

Sometimes I feel like
I see you so clearly
that I can just reach out
and touch you,
travel from my universe to yours.
I see you on a plane,
in a car, driving,
my song on the radio,
the grass ever green.
Your wife is holding your hand
pregnant in the front seat,
and you see a girl crossing the street,
dark hair that looks familiar.
Your heart stops,
but she smiles differently
and you breathe again.
Your wife notices,
asks if everything is okay.
You smile and say you just remembered something,
grateful it wasn't me.
Can't stop thinking of me,
I can't stop thinking of you.
So we meet in consciousness
saying hello,
in our daydreams, in our sleep,
I reach out and touch you
through the universe,
you feel me kiss your cheek.