Monday, November 12, 2007


FOUR more days!

It's getting harder and harder to concentrate on anything -- including getting ready, packing, getting a head-start on work due the following week -- when the onboard headlines all seem to be shrieking the above, over and over again.

Life otherwise seems to have settled down. We talk almost every day, which keeps me on something resembling an even keel, and I am glad to say that the Goat calls me almost as much as I call him. It sounds stupid, I know, but it makes a difference to me; I do hate to seem such a bottomless pit of neediness...

We are going to stay several nights with his daughter and her family, though probably not seeing as much of his grand-daughter as Himself would like: something about her being "all grown up" at five, and already scheduled as if she were on an Olympic team. Well, that's the life of a certain class of kids with two working parents. Those questions put every family on the spot, and into a place where no one else has a right to judge the choices; there is so much you can't know. Especially when you hear it all second-hand...

Well, I am mighty grateful for the ten years Isis invested in our kids, however much she may have hated the work schedule I took on to make it possible. I hear (second-hand again, or even third-hand, come to think of it, so I am taking it with a grain of salt) that Isis is not in fact doing as well as she tells everyone she is. That makes sense to me, and "rhymes" with what little I've seen of her: she has always been clever at maintaining a facade over suffering.

All of us try; some of us succeed.


My God, I love it when you call me “baby”—
You could call me most anything you like,
With one or two extreme exceptions, maybe—
My pulse runs wild, my inhibitions strike.

It’s weird to think that some think me so handsome
That I’m some sort of trophy boyfriend. Well,
I know who’s really got the trophy man. Some
Might say we were well-matched. Well, time will tell.

Though sometimes you forget that we’re together,
You never stoop to things like keeping score;
You don’t spend days obsessing over whether
You’re loved, this love can last, how loud you’ll snore.

And neither, now, do I, my evil twin.
But, God, how deep is this that we're now in...


It’s no surprise that we misread each other—
I’ve learned a lot these last few months, but still
Have far to go, so please do keep me posted,
When I annoy or hurt you. Don’t forget!

I’d like to think at some point all this bother
Will have passed by; perhaps it never will.
Who knows? If we weren’t always stoned or toasted,
We still might not have come together yet.

I’d be quite different, if I had my druthers,
A man of less opinion and more skill.
But were I different, could I still have boasted
You fell for me, as I fell when we met?

We’ve got to take ourselves, each other, all
Together, as we are, or miss our call.


Just four more days and I’ll be in your arms—
I can’t imagine anything as sweet
As what awaits, in spite of all the rush
And tumble of the trip ahead. Four days…

My time with you has had amazing charms.
The week ahead holds promise of retreat,
For all it puts me in an unknown crush,
And pulls my heart a hundred different ways.

And yet the prospect raises no alarms.
I know, as sure as I know my heart beats,
We also travel towards a falling hush,
A silence hallowed by your loving gaze.

Love throws its bread upon the seas—see how
It all returns a hundredfold, and NOW.

Hang in there, all.


No comments:

Post a Comment