Monday, November 5, 2012
3:56, Monday afternoon
It's nearly ninety degrees outside today, and I'm waiting. I'm waiting for Sophie's bus to get here. I'm waiting for the weather to get cooler. I'm waiting for election day. I'm waiting for the doctor to call me back about medical marijuana for Sophie. I'm waiting for Oliver's existential dread to abate. I'm waiting for my friend's sister to die. I'm waiting for a break, for a ship, for a sign.
A Close Call
Dusk and the sea is thus and so. The cat
from two fields away crossing through the grapes.
It is so quiet I can hear the air
in the canebrake. The blond wheat darkens.
The glaze is gone from the bay and the heat lets go.
They have not lit the lamp at the other farm yet
and all at once I feel lonely. What a surprise.
But the air stills, the heat comes back
and I think I am all right again.
-- Jack Gilbert, from Refusing Heaven