Sunday, August 30, 2009
The Remains
I empty myself of the names of others. I empty my pockets.
I empty my shoes and leave them beside the road.
At night I turn back the clocks;
I open the family album and look at myself as a boy.
What good does it do? The hours have done their job.
I say my own name. I say goodbye.
The words follow each other downwind.
I love my wife but send her away.
My parents rise out of their thrones
into the milky rooms of clouds. How can I sing?
Time tells me what I am. I change and I am the same.
I empty myself of my life and my life remains.
Mark Strand
I empty myself of the names of others. I empty my pockets.
I empty my shoes and leave them beside the road.
At night I turn back the clocks;
I open the family album and look at myself as a boy.
What good does it do? The hours have done their job.
I say my own name. I say goodbye.
The words follow each other downwind.
I love my wife but send her away.
My parents rise out of their thrones
into the milky rooms of clouds. How can I sing?
Time tells me what I am. I change and I am the same.
I empty myself of my life and my life remains.
Mark Strand
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
We Didn't Bury A Bowl
He didn't have a toy any longer,
and he shared a bowl with the love
of his life, so I could not put that
in the ground with him. So I wrote
him a note, triple-sealed in baggies.
I thanked him for the smiles, laughs,
frustration, worry, and the share
of yuck value he gave me on any given
day, when he was young and the hunt
was the mission. I said I knew he understood
I did not see him there under the carport
in the shade. It was not a place he ever slept.
He was predictable to a fault, I thought,
but chose not to write. I told him I would
need to work hard to forget this day. The
thump beneath the wheels (I did not write
that to him--he knew the feel), the frantic
drive to the vet, my neighbor cradling him
in his arms, his mouth opening wide for air
he could not get. Oh my dear, dear Old Boy.
I have a shepherd's hook in the yard. One which
has not held a plant in some time. I went to
the store today and found a cat wind chime
and hung it from the post, which I took from
its unused and useless place and placed them
both on your grave.
I will miss you.
The scratch at the door, the fights with Molly,
your strange, and oftentimes pained yowl, your love
for me and for every human who came in this house.
And I will take care of your girl, who is missing
you this night, who searches the back door
hoping beyond hope that y0u will lift yourself
off all fours and bring claws to glass--your love call,
your letting us know every day you were still here.
He didn't have a toy any longer,
and he shared a bowl with the love
of his life, so I could not put that
in the ground with him. So I wrote
him a note, triple-sealed in baggies.
I thanked him for the smiles, laughs,
frustration, worry, and the share
of yuck value he gave me on any given
day, when he was young and the hunt
was the mission. I said I knew he understood
I did not see him there under the carport
in the shade. It was not a place he ever slept.
He was predictable to a fault, I thought,
but chose not to write. I told him I would
need to work hard to forget this day. The
thump beneath the wheels (I did not write
that to him--he knew the feel), the frantic
drive to the vet, my neighbor cradling him
in his arms, his mouth opening wide for air
he could not get. Oh my dear, dear Old Boy.
I have a shepherd's hook in the yard. One which
has not held a plant in some time. I went to
the store today and found a cat wind chime
and hung it from the post, which I took from
its unused and useless place and placed them
both on your grave.
I will miss you.
The scratch at the door, the fights with Molly,
your strange, and oftentimes pained yowl, your love
for me and for every human who came in this house.
And I will take care of your girl, who is missing
you this night, who searches the back door
hoping beyond hope that y0u will lift yourself
off all fours and bring claws to glass--your love call,
your letting us know every day you were still here.
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