Yet there's a word that I would give to you:
the truth you tell in your dumb images
my daylight self goes stumbling after too.
So we may meet at last, and meeting bless,
and turn into one truth in singleness.
- --Judith Wright
"The Other Half"
That your spasmodic/athetotic daylight/nightlight self would set out all this
way from Adelaide after Boston.
That you would even imagine this when years pass here longing for someone to
come and some days it seems I could die and not be missed beyond this
That I would say yes when I don't have it in me to invite even a near friend
who might have asked to stop by. Yes with help yes.
Whyever you came and I let you, everyone knew it needed to be and was
even my Roman husband and Kansan sister who saw the reflection we are to each
in our basal ganglian liaison and helped it come true even your New Zealand
I could kiss mischievous with all she knows.
Friend beyond hemisphere and age haven't I seen you crashing past in an
seen you on a coin raised from the lonian Sea and with my eyes wide open
seen you here in Maine, golden with Camden's sun as if hearing you're in
reaching through the cold in Millay's cedar-boughed shadow
to feel your classic dystonic form breathing out loud your phoenix poems?
Now I've seen you walking, hands clasped behind your back for
as much as balance, our bodies sketching involuntarily the odd art of our
on the sidewalk to Old Town Canoe, on Sand Beach another ocean under your
Offering argument over new-to-you blueberry cakes, thanking for debates over
required desserts, weighing the first lobster of your life, strangling as I
to make a point. Socrates and Plato would like your method and let me ask you
this. . . .
Gone, I look around, noting what you've left. Aware I may never know
all you brought I still recognized the world didn't I my heart
jumpstarts to hear you through my
slurred speech my blepharo-lidded eyes believing what they see your
neck curling in me the fact of you still along my jerking nerves.
I'll remember the question posed by your calligraphic grace how it would
being loved by a man all over the place like you answering me what it's like
for my husband
to be loved by a woman all over the place like me believing we may have been
a ray of it twining for our goodbye.
- Patricia Ranzoni