Tuesday, February 12, 2013

To a Couple, Parting

for Clara

They had needed to be cruel, it was easier--pain the product of purpose--one turning the letters toward words, the other carroting the flaws; one cleaning and offering the cup,the other grasping and cracking it. In the confusion, I hid, drawing slow breaths. But even, hope rides like sweat welling above the lip, and yet the wind won't grow cooler or the air softer because they hurt--one flipping to find that phrase, the other folding the page to save it. Sometimes the quiet, the space of it, can mean as much when you drop your feet or finally rest your eyes nearer this river--that runs through the valley, heavy in pollen--and kindness is left to bend these reeds nearer the water.