I wanted to write you a beautiful poem recalling the dozens of
sand dollars dying in the sand as the white unhealthy fog
covered us—it
wasn't my fault Lily—it wasn’t a beach this
road inundated in two feet of snow two silhouettes walk down, &
one tries to steal a kiss;
So there were 2 people on that road’s shoulder & neither one of
them wore my tweed coat—
which just about then seemed like a whole lot of mirrors woven
together; &
I could hear you, Lily, saying, So this is outer space...
a theorem explaining the intersection of parallel lines; the
sputtering candle, a metal bookcase filled with regrets; & I
think I remember you from another Saturday, a
boat cut adrift, now sailing past the concrete
shore where my memories washed up
lonesome as shoes without a stove to thaw them
Jack Hayes
© 1990-2010
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5 comments:
Beautiful. Evocative
Linda
Hi Linda: Thanks! So glad you liked it.
So much emotion in that "it
wasn't my fault, Lily-"
I feel like a voyeur on this one-it's so intimate.
Thanks, Kat--perhaps part of why they didn't see the light of day for almost 20 years....
That's just brilliant. I agree with Linda: evocative is the word for it.
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