Monday, September 27, 2010

I am so glad it is fall. My favorite time of the year. And I feel sad. For all the years gone by. For all I did not do, have not done, have missed in the lives of my children and in my own life, when all the while I thought I was out searching for me. I was really missing out on me. Now what? Can't even remember 21 or 22. And 51 feels far too old to be not that old.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Kunstfest

Went to New Harmony, IN Friday night. European
beer tasting. Not a beer drinker. Did it more to get Rob
out of the house. Don't know that it helped much. He's
never been to New Harmony. I've been there many times--
for wine tastings, poetry workshops, pleasure. Thought
including him in a part of my life by asking if he wanted
to go to something I thought he would like (beer) would
help lift his mood. Not that he seemed miserable, but
he was detached. One of the beers I tasted was surprisingly
good. It tasted like drinking October. Like drinking Halloween.
A German beer, a dopplebock--starts with an A...hmmm....Aventinus.

****

I felt alone in our togetherness.

The downward spiral continues for his business. Every night
I come home to gloom and doom. It is wearing on me. I have
done all I know to do to help.

Kunstfest started yesterday and ends today. Stayed in New Harmony
most of the day for the festival. Lots of music, vendors, artisans.
Dulcimers, electronic accordion, brass, bluegrass, bad German food.

Walked for about 4 hours. My feet hurt today.

**************

More I thought about saying but too tired to say. Or too unsure.

Back to my bed and my books.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Before the Break

We picked my brother
up in the night:
a train depot smaller
than my carport,
concealing arrivals
and departures,
all fears concealed
in darkness, fog,
denial.

Famished, we stopped
at the Pelican for eggs
and hash, my husband lively
in his fatigue, brother
half-asleep through
the meal, me praying
I would not die there,
at the Pelican, baby
kicking around.

Even then, death
sat on my shoulder,
made itself at home
in the chambers of my heart,
an uninvited
and intrusive visitor.
I only think of this tonight,
20 years later,
because I can,
and because my brother
sends me messages
which remind me
of those days,
before the fall,
before
the fear left me
and truth came at me
with a mean right
punch to the gut,
a constant twitch
in my left eye, feet
swollen and sore,
unbendable arthritic
fingers.

Oh, yes, he sits
there still,
not as loud
as he was in the days,
but no less lively.
I want to say to him
that he no longer holds
the key, no longer
makes the decisions,
but I am older
and he never
changes.

I tell him
my brother
will kick his ass
if he makes a move,
my husband will jump
in, too, and my children
will never forgive him,
but it makes
no difference.

He's still going
to sit and brood,
make himself
my most stalwart
companion, present
himself as the lover
he has always been--
faithful and unforgiving.

Thursday, September 09, 2010

The Unexpected

Don't know how
it is I am still awake.
Out all night on call,
driving miles and miles
of dark road,
someone very ill
at the end of my journey.
But this morning,
just as I thought
I am done
with this, I can do more
but die, a rainbow rose
in front of me.
From the indigo clouds
of night, lifting like song
into burning morning.
From nothing it came,
nothing but itself. Not one
storm cloud, not one drop
of rain. I came closer
to losing myself in this life
as I craned my neck,
not satisfied with the slice
afforded, than I did
to sleeplessness and deer
crossings.
Me, allowed to see
such beauty, leaving behind
the men so lost in voices
and fear that no rainbow
could penetrate
their darkness, nor make
any sense if it did.

Tuesday, September 07, 2010

This from FB tonight. Dorianne posted it. I like it very much!

WORK SONG


Love picks its way through the gravel ruts
leading into the job site, past the truck tires
exploded nearby, the crows’ rusted voices, black
wings and feet, cottonwoods risen in ghostly
fields and the levee’s blonde lip folded over
the water. It seeks itself in random orders:
pale mist settling on marsh grass, freezing


the tattered glittering webs, ragged forsythia
strewn down the fence, raindrops fallen like worlds
without end into the distant river. The job
runs smoothly, ahead of schedule, feeder frames
built in the ceilings, underground cable
punched down and tagged. See the tiered
ladders set in place, wire spools threaded

side by side onto a length of steel pipe. See
the apprentice in line at the roach coach waiting
for everyone’s coffee. You know somewhere nearby
chaotic traffic fractures the April dawn. That the
Dow Jones ratings your paycheck depends on
cluster like blind spores swarming their prey.
That the homeless have wandered the hacked edge

of nightfall scavenging Pepsi cans. But here pairs
of carpenters level the windows and new tilework
arches its reverend glaze over the fireproof doors.
a fine rain glows in the threshold where your crew
hunches over the floorplan: four Benedictines
in speckled light, cowled in frayed sweatshirts,
Carhart jeans, copying out last night’s changes.

Joseph Millar
Basically just got called out, or called out to. From one of my baby brothers, this: