Thursday, August 5, 2010

Resuming Our Book of Birds


we watch
the birds
in the grander scheme
of things

Saturday afternoon

the olive-sided flycatcher
(ridiculous as that may seem)
the great pee-wee (that can't be here)
a brown towhee (that is)
a house finch (always)

waiting for a twinge
a wise complaint

living after dying
they needed me

living after dying
I thought they needed me

call and response
when crows aren't flying

I want, I want to see him again
just one more time


this is the day
we're a bird made of sticks

oh, this is the night
when we're telling our stories
to strangers on planes

we brought the shield
even when we said no

whoever asked
we just like to say it

this is the day
these are the sticks

So, I repeated we watch the birds, or, technically, iv., because this is its proper place in the cycle, and I'm trying to be proper. I guess. But I included v. so that you wouldn't be disappointed when you came looking for a new poem. Carolin, this means you.

A confusing and disrupted day. The thing is, I knew it would be, the day after Herceptin always is, but I tried to carry on anyway, when I should have hidden in bed all day.

Oh well, here's some of what helped:

Sam said that if he gets the sausage hot and then puts the spinach in, all the water goes out of the spinach and the spinach kind of disappears, which he likes, because he doesn't really like spinach.

Lauren explained why I can't really say that she's sick: because this is not the sickest that she's ever been.

Carolin said that the Xeloda is probably still in my system and that maybe having the Herceptin sort of re-activated it and that's why my fingers are splitting again.

Adam says that in The Last Waltz, which I've still never seen, Van Morrison has on some kind of maroon velvety bell bottoms with a laced up crotch. He was wondering if those guys had stylists. I laughed - but what do I know?

Once again, the weirdness of the day after Herceptin got the best of me, even though I thought I was prepared for it. How can I know so much and not know it? How is this possible? Do I actually have holes in my head that the information runs out of, even as it is being poured in at the top?

Lulu was, all day, the very image of perfection, the thing that I could turn to and stay sane, the tops of the trees. I tried to put her picture here, but something's gone wrong. Just another day.

Good night and have sweet sleep. Because I love you.

No comments:

Post a Comment