(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
To the bottom of the breath I hold
Until he returns, changing old to new.
–copyright Jill Szoo Wilson