gregory-crewdson-untitled-natural-bridge-e28098beneath-the-roses_-2007.jpg

(Photo Credit: Gregory Crewdson)

 

Wet air licking my pores

Pulling sweat from beneath

Skin pierced with mosquitoes

And leftover sun,

Drenched with summer.

 

Another half-love come and gone

With the changing of the seasons

And the changing of the mind

With swiftness and a self-aggrandizing

Bowing of the head—a whole goodbye.

 

A promise made, a promise left

In the midst of the doldrums

Creeping past my open window

The screen of which catches

All the flies but not the leeches.

 

Water rising as high as the rain

With a voice like wind through trees

Pulling weight from one side, or

Maybe pushing me away

With the flow of my mind.

 

Nothing is too bad or

All is not as good as the rhythm

I had known before this . . .

This . . . current swept newly

Through and past my soul—what I miss is old.

 

I say my soul but it was really my heart

And the fullness of its breadth

Floated through my mind,

A buoy of strength and weakness and

Resignation to me, made new.

 

Newly resigned and to my past

Declined like a Dowager

Sitting on a perch inside a house

Meant for one,

No longer for two.

 

If only he

Could pass through my knees

Like water flowing from and to

Pressing my skin with life

And with movement

Now one, remembering two.

 

I guess I will stand here

Patient but not patient

Waiting because waiting is all there is

For him to turn the wheel

To decide a decision for he and for I.

 

Nature wraps itself around

My heart that aches and slips

Right through

To the bottom of the breath I hold

Until he returns, changing old to new.

 

copyright Jill Szoo Wilson

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