Tuesday, January 13, 2009

The best I can do

I have been trying to write a response
for 4 days, 4 hours, and 12 minutes.

This is what I remember.

I remember you staring into my eyes,
and me thinking of warm, melting chocolate
as I stared into yours.
I remember you and I sitting in the impossibly green grass
on the impossibly beautiful day
the day after I'd moved, and everything seemed new
anyway.

I remember you felt like summer, like
the warmth of air at twilight, like
the patio in the backyard and no shoes on
and watching fireflies and maybe even
catching them
and letting them fly away.

You felt like everything slowing down
like taking a deep breath of honeysuckle
and being in love with the whole green world.

and I remember you came back into town
a week or two later and

there was that day walking in the roses
and the whole gold world and
light twinkling-spangling through all
possible spaces between the leaves
and the brook which broke up the light
and sent it chasing itself in pieces
over the small pebbles and branches and larger rocks.

and then you didn't come back.
I remember you didn't come back.
I remember crying as soon as you left,
because I knew that you wouldn't
come back...
and you didn't.

Now it is seven months, two and half seasons gone,
and you have written me a message and
I have been trying to write a response
for 4 days, 4 hours, and 12 minutes...


and it's like trying to listen to a shell for the sound of the ocean.
There's just the hollow empty sound
of a bit of hurt, a bit of loss, a bit of longing...
but pretty much nothing to say.

1 comment:

Mike said...

Oh, wow, Amy. That is powerful.