I'll Come Back For You
I dig my way out of the scrum of stickers
and begin my climb
and begin my climb
I left the house, ostensibly to pick mushrooms,
but failed in the attempt, as I found none
after succumbing to the temptations of a
new route, becoming tangled in a mess
new route, becoming tangled in a mess
of these same stickers, and hampered by the
slippery wet rocks at the bottom
slippery wet rocks at the bottom
of the other end of the creek that
runs along the back of the adjoining property,
I have to scramble my way back
onto the familiar territory
runs along the back of the adjoining property,
I have to scramble my way back
onto the familiar territory
of the lower shelf of the ridge
I labor up the hill and almost miss
the two new falls of trees,
and it is strange to me, as I had been on that
part of the trail only last Wednesday and I recall
no storms that would have caused such damage
The lay of the land looks a little different, and
here at fifty-two, I feel the mistrust of memory,
as if assailed by a long, slow attack of deja vu
It's after seven in the evening, and through the trees,
The lay of the land looks a little different, and
here at fifty-two, I feel the mistrust of memory,
as if assailed by a long, slow attack of deja vu
It's after seven in the evening, and through the trees,
I barely see the ivory siding of our house,
and lug my overweight baggage through the shadows
and lug my overweight baggage through the shadows
up the path that feeds into the slope of our backyard,
past the tractor shed, the three-quarters full wood-shed
between the house and your studio,
past the tractor shed, the three-quarters full wood-shed
between the house and your studio,
and up onto the back deck, where I take
my muddy shoes and wet socks off
and leave them in the porch
Entering, I catch a whiff of the soup you have
simmering on the stove. A bean mix, with bits of
herb from our garden, a little turkey sausage,
the ever-present and dangerous floating habenero,
a splash or two of wine
You claim you've been losing your hearing,
and there is some small evidence that it may be so
As I come up behind you, sitting at my office desk,
using my computer to grade papers,
I chuckle and touch your shoulder,
and still you do not turn
I lean in to sniff your hair, as I always do,
and I notice that you have not colored it,
and now I remember that I have come back
for you a hundred times or more
I promised
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