We shall not cease from exploring
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets

Monday, February 9, 2009

for when the ice broke

Here's one from your old man
meaning, in Idaho-speak 
husband, lover, boyfriend
the guy you shack up with
reaching past the regulation gray box I had wanted
to paint flowers on, or maybe
black! because your last name is white
get it
you did not
and I had forgotten all about the flowers.

the guy in the mail truck was the new
regular; the old regular
Fritz, had retired. To
Alaska, Alaska! you said
then sat with your back to me carving
the nails of your hands smooth and even
in the quiet simmer
where we sat saying nothing

until you said 
borrow pit and I said
what? 
we'll have to weed whack it.

the time we were driving 
jockey box, borrow pit, and spendy
all in the same sentence and I had no idea
me: ditch on the side of the road, glove compartment,
too expensive
at Lardo's you ordered a Heineken
but you don't drink
you: I do now 

I read it
the way a blind man touches braille
the first time, the second 
and then never again
google: how do you scream in braille

and so I wrote back
the only way I knew to a man of so few words
to someone who would give a girl with an art history degree
a chainsaw sculpture of a cute
raccoon
acute raccoon: the condition 
of having watched too many Disney nature shows as a child

It would require precision, and my blades whittling the wind
the pond a silver ellipse upon which I turned 
the words
wishing I had made it bigger,
that odd sensation of being on ice of having
something so frail to hold you up
that could just let go

you said:
it will never work
will be too thin
or have bare spots
what about the slope
and not smooth enough
you don't know 
what you're doing
I wanted to scream

but I did it anyway, launching rocks
into the woods,
spent the summer evenings raking the dead
leaves, sticks, twigs, whatever the sky could heave
while you were gone
my coup de grace was Mr. Beaver
who never knew I was the god
hustling his sticks and altering the dynamic symmetry
"Mrs. Beaver chews the tough outer layers saving
the tender cambium for her family"
you worked hard today sweetie

It took all winter
driest December on record
and then freeze
and then snow and it disappeared and I almost forgot
by then
for your letter to come;

and one sodden spring day
for it all to thaw
our names, the perfect script atop
an iceberg heart set them free
from that black eye of ice where I had skated
amazed at how well I could see without any light

before the melt of dark
and sky
swallowed them whole.



 


 
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A Field Guide to Drowning by Mackenzie Rivers is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.