Monday, January 21, 2013

52 (hurtling)

52 (hurtling)


i do not know
how to turn 52

it is something
i have never done before

it is not like any other
year of this inevitable gravity

and growing older has become
a crumbling and a hurtling like orbiting

reminding me of science fiction films
the soft roaring of space ships and planets

this thing happening to me against me over me
until i become a drifting consequence of being overwhelmed


this other side of over
this rain of you gone

has washed away all
the color leaving gray

and black and white
like a decaying silent film


i come to where you are
and even though you asked
me without asking me not to

you are not angry or surprised
i appear asking you to read to me
something you think wonderful

i expect Franny and Zooey
or Vonnegut or Carl Rogers
or something i could not guess

i lay my head in your lap
and then you read this poem
over the rush of planetary hurtling

i do not know how to turn 52”
i say when you finish

it is something
i have never done before”

i reach for your ankle
taking it in my hand
holding on this time

hurtling and crumbling
slip from my mind
and suddenly

i do not know how to turn 52
without you”

i confess

i know i know”
resting your warm palm
on my bare head

you say in a voice
like a hurtling space ship
and the colors of the rainbow

that’s why i read you this poem”

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