This November there seems to be nothing to say. – Anne Sexton
That covers it I guess. Some links:
something else I’d written earlier this month
Two Year Review (that was several months late)
And, I was not able to make a one year review, but this post from February 2018 marked the beginning of my attempting to return to this blog full-time.
Happy holidays, readers, be safe.
November always is not easy
Many poets have remarked on this
I will say, however, in fairness
It’s not as though it was only ever windy
or that the rain wouldn’t cease
We saw the sun
We saw the moon
Light remains
creeping away earlier in the afternoon
as it always does this time of year
In fact almost everything
did not change
Except you would not
be after us about sunscreen
Monsoon season did not catch you
and make you a little feral
Moonlight doesn’t fall on your knuckles
on the steering wheel
as you drive home from work & do not notice
Maybe the worst part is
many poets were wrong
Yes you died once in November
but it was also the only time
you ever would
And that feels far more
challenging & significant
About me,
I once wrote
the animal that I am
cannot shed teeth
as even snakes will only
part with old skin
I have, too, read
about how no one owns
the hearts of birds
and like that
saw myself
far up in the sky
about vanishing from sight
And,
about you,
I have said in my vows
that the one thing you are
more than good
Is true
&
that you had stayed standing
so I could lean on you
You stayed
standing, so I could get up again
It took two more years
& the most ordinary
and unusual challenges
before I
put two and two together
And realized that
of course I am an animal
and undoubtedly I have long been feral
but every wild heartbeat
has a home
When darkness begins to climb the walls of the hills
even on all fours
footsteps fall
on the way
to where they belong
The place you made for me
is where I sleep easily
Who you are for me
is the one to tell my dreams to
in the morning
I have realized that
No, losing you would not be
like losing the sun
I already know
that the world and of course even I would go on
It would not be like losing air
I would not simply drown
Might it be like losing the rain
Every spear of summer grass a memory
What if everything of substance and value
could remain
But nothing bloomed again
& green only goes to seed unceremoniously
The world would not disappear, I know
It wouldn’t even lose all its colors
Might though
One lonely hue cease to be
Instantaneously absorbed into other descriptions, other perceptions
Could some understanding never stand out again
Some conclusions never be reached again
Some meaning always bled into other intentions, other definedness
I think some doors must shut forever
If you were gone from me
For one thing I just can’t hear myself laugh
the way you make me laugh
I think of the places we have been
& those I know would all remain
But I can see a door closing
to be wiped from reach
After all, we just can’t go home again
