When I wrote this piece, I had returned to New York from my first visit to Virginia, less than one week home. Torn in two, yet mending in ways I could not then label nor identify.
Today, four years on, we are a “we”; not distanced by separation nor divorce, space nor inconvenience, fear nor longing – though the latter two often the worst of things to feel. I could go days alone were there little to anticipate. It was not easy and, honestly, I worried about failing.
Anyway, my head was these words. My heart, too. They’re still there, happily.
Poem for Bob.
You and I have grown past love
the way a child grows past a sweater
or wears down the heels of rainy season rubber boots
You and I have fished for love
the way a ‘coon paws murky ponds, half in/half out
in shameless hunkered stupor
grasping at anything
-anyone-
to fill the void and ease
I and maybe you have beat the horses dead
yet cheered their ribboned finishes
then stood ‘lone at the gate awaiting the purse…
(were you, too, surprised it was empty?)
I and possibly you breathless crossed-fingered hoped
once would be ever and all ways.
You twice
Me once
(I respect the believer in you and honor the fear in me)
into tidal waters
through summer tall grass
‘tween the forest treespace
to swim in quarry and inquiry
you and I ne’er shall meet
pumpkin and pine
for whilst you dream and forge
I unriddle ’round dead horses running
unwinable races
You and you
I and I
have comingled and exhaled
and poured and refilled
buttonhole songs of our own undoing
more than unravel again
we mend
together
testing the ice
complete tentative ironclad tissue
to grow past now
renewed
-DJD
