Saturday, October 14, 2017

sometimes i see truth
clearly, through the haze, like Phae-
dra waiting for death.


elm



sometimes i see truth
clearly, through haze, like Phaedra
waiting for her death.

Friday, September 22, 2017

Rosh Hashana

I briefly regained consciousness last night, which was the second night of rosh hashanah here in the western hemisphere.

what on earth - or maybe not earth - do i mean? well i had been sleeping soundly - much too soundly, and then awakened from a lovely dream to go to the bathroom. i had to force myself to rise because i was paralyzed. when i finally started to walk, i was like a dwarf: knees completely bent: that is how i "walked," and consequently how i surely looked. i made it back into bed and the land of true unconsciousness - perhaps just sleep (?).

as usual i dreamed about old friends gone by(e), and my ex-boyfriends/husband and erstwhile son. (god bless and forgive him, for he knows not what he does.) i awakened again for a little while a few hours later, and was more or less able to walk normally.

it is now a new year. i wish i had been sent some kind of an omen for the new year, but i know that i am not at all special, and, therefore, would not be on anyone's list of omens for the new year. yet here am i still typing, ticking off another year on this journey of cancer and despair. and loneliness. o the loneliness.

my prayer is to do better this year, since i am still being kept alive. my prayer is that my son save himself from more grief and hurt. my prayer is that i can find some way to live this life that has, apparently, been given.

and that is all.

amen


Sunday, March 19, 2017

Obit - by Robert Lowell, for Elizabeth Hardwick

Our love will not come back on fortune's wheel -

in the end it get us, though a man know what he'd have:
old cars, old money, undebased pre-Lyndon
silver, no copper running through ... old wives;
I could live such a too long time with mine.
In the end, every hypochondriac is his own prophet.
Before the final coming to rest, comes the rest
of all transcendence in a mode of being, hushing
all becoming. I'm for and with myself in my otherness,
in the eternal return of earth's fairer children,
the lily, the rose, the sun on brick at dusk,
the loved, the lover, and their fear of life,
their unconquered flux, insensate oneness, painful "It was."
After loving you so much, can i forget
you for eternity, and have no other choice?"

Sunday, March 12, 2017

incidental haiku


  • i write you out of
  • my book of numbers. the phone
  • will be silent now.