I’ve been staring
at a fallen photo in my bedroom.
a week
and I still haven’t picked it up
and set it back
where it stood before.
I can see the right corner of the frame
wedged behind the bureau
like the ankle of a man buried in earthquake rubble.
but there was no earthquake here
in my bedroom.
so how did it fall?
and now fallen
perhaps it should stay
the way of all things that have come into the world before
and fallen
like armies and ideals, Communism and the American Empire.
like my youth.
there’s just something I suppose.
a broken, plunging wish,
in all the unpickable things.
Is there a way
to talk of the sun
without invoking the moon?
Love without loss,
Desire without despair,
without hope.
Arrival without departure.
What follows
can’t be easily ignored.
If life is an act of
remembrance
Don’t forget —
every considered step,
and how well you have fallen down.
When I see time
(Speaking through)
sinking into my father
(plate washing, mouth slack)
his gentle face drawing in
(A bud in reverse)
his touch so light
(Prairie grass in the Fall)
and his eyes focused on the distance
(the colour of the world before sight)
I want to tell time
Stop.
I have seen enough
I leave the room
trailing scraps of feeling, heart full of embers
sketching grief in my pillow
When I return he is smiling
to sip a cup of tea
with Time.
And it’s my understanding
which is amber
which is a potted plant
a whiplashed bird
a calloused heart
Needing light
Air
Freedom
And his love
My love
The mollifying dance between father and daughter
can bring me to my knees
(the heart of me)
to bow to beautiful decay
and then I’m smitten
(burnt amber/wings unfolded/cracked pot/3page love letter
because some day we’ll all be gone
but our whirl of tenderness will go on and on
i couldn’t keep my
heart
from pounding against
the plate of morning toast
and landing
at your feet
Splat.
tenderised
like Bedouin veins.
we add up to
Everything
we are propane.
without us
there is no hearth
to warm the coffee
there’s no way the mangoes will come to market
and the world will decelerate
to end this fantasy
that
women cannot be counted.