adaptations.

This is Just to Say
(William Carlos Williams)

I have eaten
the plums
that were
in the icebox

and which
you were
probably saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

-
Adaptations (Mystic Orthodoxy)

I said all the things
you wanted to hear
about being proud,

But mostly they were lies
that I felt compelled
to tell you instead of the truth.

It's not that I don't want
for you to be happy,
but I hate that you'll
leave me here.

-

You'll understand
if I tell you that
I don't feel much anymore.

It's not so much the distance
as it is the emptiness
of the whole routine.

I'd ask for forgiveness
but I'm not sure I'm worth
mercy or grace.

for cody.

who are you, little i

(five or six years old)
peering from some high

window; at the gold of November sunset

(and feeling:that if day
has to become night

this is a beautiful way)

'who are you, little i' by ee cummings.

it's fun to watch the colors change. to smell the leaves burning somewhere off behind me. to pretend that i can leave open the windows as long as i want. when i was younger, i would spend the extra daylight running barefooted up and down the hills behind my house. i dug my toes into the coolness of the sand pits and then let the wet grass clean them off. i would swing my feet off the edge of the bridge until my little legs were fully devoured by mosquitoes. then i would peddle home, through the woods and over the mounds and pull my bike into my garage and get back to everything else. i want those days back.

remember?

When I stepped outside I could see only a bit of the moon. The season is such that only a sliver of it reflects the light. I saw the orange thumb-nail peaking out, contrasted among the rest of the sky. And I looked for the stars but could find any.

It was like that night when my world seemed to be slipping away and you made me look at the stars. Standing on the sidewalk in my pajamas, my socks wet from the pavement, struggling to lift my head enough. And you shook me straight and took my face in your hands and tilted my eyes up.

Above me, I could see the stars burn. I stood transfixed, my head still grounded, refusing to let myself drift from that painful place. And so you led me upstairs and sat me down. And there in your living room we faced each other, cross-legged on the carpet, our knees hardly touching. And you sang me songs. Quietly at first, humming along with chords only to sing a chorus every now and then, softly, forcing me into a place of peace.

And I thought of those stars. Cast up into the heavens with so much care. Held there with so much intention. And I couldn’t help but feel lost among them. I wanted so much to be caught up in them. There was so much hope in that thought, that the stars were suspended above me with so much beauty and grace.

But tonight I couldn’t find any stars. It was too cloudy. There was too much polluting the sky. The only light was that little bit of moon, struggling to make its presence known.