washed with clear sky:
crisp on a new day:
By my window
I watch it coming–
stealth sharpening trees fingers
calling out the edge of things
I float through glass,
Escape into fat hours
which carry me
like fleshy promises
into the lies of the morning,
satiety of the afternoon,
the dull completeness of night.
I abandon chair, window,
My place at the edge
of this exact moment,
seduced into the day’s dreams
which shimmer like fool’s gold,
as fraudulent as tomorrow.
I wrote this poem this morning as I sipped my coffee and waited for the day to begin. “Yesterday was MONDAY,” I thought, “That’s three days after Quick Draw was supposed to call me, and didn’t.”
As I imagined it, Jon would take me to the Confusion Clinic and the nurse would say, “Oh, the doctors have canceled your infusion. They want us to take out the picc line now so you are ready for surgery.” And then I would come home, and there would be a message: “Stop taking the blood thinners—your surgery is scheduled for Monday.”
I would spend the rest of the week packing, finishing some work assignments, writing to people and sending emails, finishing up some insurance paperwork….
And suddenly, it was Tuesday afternoon and, finally, the phone rang. “Nope,” said QD. “I am just not happy with these lab results quite yet. You’re almost there, but not quite. Let’s give it another week—I will see you next Tuesday, and we’ll talk.”
Where I need to stay: in “My place at the edge of this exact moment.” No messing around with the daydreams, Gertie….