Thursday, June 16, 2011

Thirst


The lavender was dry today, the cement so hot.
but it was there, gray, full of life, and fragrant.
So I watered it.
And I watered the blooming lilies and the who knows whats its.
I watered the rose from Allen, 
and the lobelia, 
and the curling camellia that is so happy in her pot, so much more happy than where she used to sit, in the dark and in the cloying clay.
I tsk'd at the nasturtiums that are NOT going wild as they used to before, to my old frustration. So innocently contained are they now, in their painted little pots.

He has pains, you know, and they start in his back, and travel down his arm and into his elbow.
I think I am beginning to mirror him.

He asked, can I water the veggies while you water those pots?
And he did, and I didn't go see how well he'd dosed them.
I knew he'd drugged them well enough to survive the heat,
And maybe well enough to flourish, to prosper.
He's good at watering, at soothing hot souls.
This is why we need him.

And we move forward, he and I,
From here where there is simplicity, 
To there where there is memory. 
He blooms sadness and hope while he snugs up to the past.
And I paint. I paint, slowly paint, erasing away the memories in order to find what is next,
And then I stop, say no, remember this? 
And I bow to honor, bow to celebrate.
What goes and what is to come?
Paint with the white, but leave the pink shining through, here, here, and here.

How much memory will manage to stay and will this new something last?
I hold up the nest: it is transparent, clear. 
Don't fear dropping, dear, because this is it and it is its own strength.
Here is the heart.
And yet, when I cry out, why do I hear the echo so loudly?

He asks why I try and try and try and knows that there is nothing but this.
But now I am the optimist and see flowers instead of sprouts.
Can you read, she asks, metaphors into the news, and still not lose the story? 

I can't reach you.
I see you.
I understand. 
We are still, not moving, here we are, side by side.
Are you watching the sun set?
I have always wanted a view and now I have two:
His and mine and well, maybe even more.