Thursday, May 8, 2014

STOPPING - REMEMBERING -
WHAT'S - BETTER - 
WHO'S IMPORTANT

Poem for Today - May 8, 2014



WHAT THE LIVING DO

Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days,                  some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won't work but smells dangerous, 
             and the crusty dishes have piled up

waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is                  the everyday we spoke of
It’s winter again: the sky’s a deep headstrong blue,                  and the sunlight pours through

The open living room windows because the heats on                 too high in here, and I can’t turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of                             groceries in the street, the bag breaking,

I've been thinking: This is what the living do. And                     yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my                 coffee down my wrist and sleeve,

I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it. Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.

What you finally gave up. We want the spring
               to come and the winter to pass. 
We want whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss —                  we want more and more any then more of it.

But there are moments, walking, when I catch a                          glimpse of myself in the window glass,
Say the window of the corner video store, and I’m                        gripped by a cherishing so deep

for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and                                unbuttoned coat that I’m speechless:
I am living, I remember you.


© Marie Howe (1950 - )

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