Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Dearest, don't let me forget that there's a full moon rising tonight
I'd like to see it come up behind the oak trees across the road
I was helping D hang curtains and windex windows downstairs
sipping an icefilled glass of wine
I changed the sheets of my bed today
they're spinning in the drier just now
there's a high-pitched peripheral squeaking sound
that goes along with the rolling of the drier
and occasional thwack of - what- zipper?
oh yeah, I threw in my offwhite clamdiggers too
against the centrifuge
D went out to get another box of wine
Claire likes to sleep on the carton of La Vielle Ferme
cardboard set a foot above the floor
by the trash cans in the kitchen

I had a wonderful time with you this afternoon
from quarter-to-three to three
so good that I tried to do it again and it's just no good
so then I pagehit-checked and washed toys and got back into bed
and fell asleep for a bit

then got up, stripped the bed
threw sheets in the washer, along with my clothes
and put a pear frangipane in the oven - 350

I thought I'd vacuum a bit more but the pressure's off
oh - by the way - the houseswap this weekend's off,
postponed for a couple of weeks or three

which actually is a relief to me
and very much to D

but we'll organize it for sometime in a few weeks

so the house is clean, and draperies, and windows
D on a ladder, wiping
me obsessive - how bad was that window?
they vary, those tall plain sheets with the stained glass surrounds

Pulver lost his supply of old glass, D tells me
as he lovingly wipes red - blue - ochre oblong panes

that's a loss, a very great one
it's glass his father before him collected too

they lost the whole inventory
(in a heavy snowstorm last winter that collapsed the flat roof)
But he doesn't dwell on it

Why would he? what are you going to do?
Exactly, says D, what Pulver says
there's nothing he can do, and so he goes on

I tried to lie down again with you, on the fly
and at that point I'd had a glass of pink wine
and it wasn't going to work
I need to be at my peak, as I had been at three

and it's probably all the harder for men, with their hydraulics

darling, whatever, this is just me typing, slapping up 'any old thing'
which usually I don't do

here's D's footfall again on the porch stair
and the loud slap of the screen door behind him
he's back
the drier's still squealing

I came, very silently, towards three, then fell asleep

and then rose
and did a bunch of stuff
and then for two seconds lay down again and gave up

It's 6:41
I'm going to launch this post

despite it all
there's a full moon to regard, that I'm sure
on this clear mild night
will rise with great vigor, convincingly
behind those twin oaks - whose leaves by the way, to date, remain

but on my walk today
seriously - audibly -
leaves were falling
one by one
rustling, startling, murmuring
sometimes it was a squirrel
sometimes a chipmunk
but most often
just a dry brittle leaf
one after another like rainfall
tumbling to earth

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