Monday, October 28, 2013

Bottle Caps

(To Joo)

Bottle caps all over the floor;
some of us leave something behind.
Smile, dear; sunshine is nothing
if not that twinkle in your voice.

It was a sad day when she realized she was mortal.
“A hundred years from now,” she said,
“I won’t be around.”
And I’ll be sure to miss you, dear,
from wherever I am not then.

Underneath the scaffold papered with life’s residues,
on this frigid night, with life passing us by,
hurried on its Saturday,
blowing warm breath into its cupped hands
trying to capture some fleeting warmth,
I told her, I would never inflict this life on anyone.

It’s not the misery, I said,
It’s the boredom, the anticipation of nothing.
She smiled, knowingly;
caressing, if smiles ever could.
And I wasn’t so sure anymore.

(Originally posted on February 11, 2007)

Thursday, October 17, 2013

"The Return" by Joe Bolton

And when, finally, you found your way back,
It seemed you barely recognized the place—
Or rather, the place barely recognized you.
. . .
But visiting friends, their faces both the same
And not the same, you realized how the loss
Of a common language could undo the world:

How the sky over each landscape contained
The blueprints of a city that might rise
When all your generation had gone away,

And how lovers were, in the end, reduced
To the sounds of names, the flesh utterly forgotten.
And it seemed then that you'd come all this way

Only to pass unnoticed through the place,
Driving fast down dangerous, familiar roads
Like a shadow you had cast years before.