the poet in you

Last night I was telling Michael about the litany of things I needed to do before shoving off to work today. When I was through he said, "That shouldn't take long. Just throw on your brassiere and go." Throw on my brassiere? There was just too much wrong with that sentence to even take it up with him but I'm thinking to myself that my once young and vital husband had morphed into a 90 year war veteran. Who says brassiere anymore? I don't even think my grandmother said brassiere though the topic really didn't come up much. And when I think about it, it still doesn't come up much except on the rare occassion that I have to buy a new one and I grumble about the price.

And as if. As if I just threw on a bra and ran out the door, keys in hand to check the items off my list one by one. Phew! Glad I dressed light for that, I couldn've worked up a wee bit of misty dew on my forehead! What if I didn't "throw on a brassiere?" Would I scare people? Was it a hint? Did he see me traipsing around the homefront swinging free and braless? Is that what made the chickens run out of our yard and down the street like Henny Penny warning about the sky? I don't think so.

So now I do have to run off to work and how I'll dress will be anybody's guess.

Today was the day that I told myself it was alright to spend my day doing what I needed to do based on my natural inner clock, to trust my own rhythm instead of doing what I needed to do based on Michael's inner clock that has somehow been superimposed over my own.

This meant doing book related work first thing in the morning. Admittedly I use the term "first thing" loosely here. By first thing I mean after I have made coffee, drank 3 cups and read the first short story from a collection that I am reading by Andre Dubus which, by the way, was excellent. Bravo, Dubus. So yes. Book related work first thing. Culling the old and unsold, checking ABE listings to make sure ISBN's are there, and cleaning newly acquired titles or wrapping dust jackets in protective covers.

The trouble is that I am ruined with Michael's clock, his pragmatism, his damned schedule. All I can think is if I do not go to the post office now, well it will just be too wretchedly hot to do it at 4pm. Then I chase that practical little thought away when it's friend comes sauntering up the path saying, "Don't you have to go to the bank?" and I take a quick glance at one of our many, many clocks and think I don't want to do that in the heat either. And I certainly don't want to be out doing errands when he comes home from teaching, because there is that precious hour and a half that we have to spend together before he's off to job #2.

We just had our 10 year anniversary. I am still surprised by the measure of acquiesence on both our parts. Marriage is no place to stand rigid. We trust each other enough to give in or to at least try what works for the other person. And I know how he plans his days; he gets the ugly out of the way first. I revel in the comfort of home and put off what is a chore until the last minute. So, I do a little of what I like then I do a little of what he'd do and then I get through the day either cursing his name a little or saying quiet little thank you's to the man. And I can still revel in the pleasures of the day. I can still stroll down the sidewalk at the post office watch the bees and wonder, "Who's clock are they on?"

I woke, stunned from a dream and stumbled to the bathroom. Anyone would want to pee if they'd been through what I'd been through. Our old car, our Jeep, fell into a lake at night. We were with the dogs. The ground had just fallen away from under us. We were parked, talking (about moving away) and then we were in the lake.

I found the button for the window, rolled it down as the car slowly sunk front end first, being pulled by the weight of the engine. All I could do was take charge of Slip, our blind Italian Greyhound. I trusted Michael would be okay; he's a stronger swimmer than I am. I thought the other dogs could drown but I couldn't save all of them and I knew it. I jumped out with great clearance. It was like a movie jump, the bad guy launches himself from the roof of the building and gets away. I swam to shore and put Slip up but he hears Michaels voice and tries to make his way towards him. He's back in the lake swimming aimlessly around. Then he goes under but I feel for him and grab him by his thin rat tail and pull him out again. Michael is looking down already mourning for the dogs. My husband, in the lake at night, mourning for his dogs. There was nothing I could say.

This is from too much television. From talk shows with themes like, "What To Do If..." and the news coverage of the bridge in Minneapolis. It's from my car having to be towed yesterday after it died at the post office and it's from being forever watchful of Slip. It was a dream of fears and burdens and annoyances and sleeping in if even for five more minutes.

Snake Lake by Thomas Lux

My friends, I hope you will not swim here:

this lake isn't named for what it lacks.

This is not just another vacant scare.

They're in there — knotted, cruel, and thick

with poison, some of them. Others bite

you just for fun — they love that curve

along the white soft side of your foot,

or your lower calf, or to pierce the nerves

with their needles behind your knees.

Just born, the babies bite you all the same.

They don't care how big you are — please

do not swim here. There is no shame

in avoiding what will kill you: cool pleasure

of this water. Do not even dip your toes

in because they'll hurt you, or worse,

carry you away on their backs — no,

not in homage, but to bite you as you sink.

Do not, my friends, swim here: I like you

living: this is what I believe, what I think.

Do not swim here — lest the many turn to few.

A new Poet Laureate has been selected. Charles Simic will succeed now Poet Laureate, Donald Hall. Congratulations, Charles Simic! Here's a very tiny sampling:

The Invisibles

A true detective story

In which a large black dog

Listens at a keyhole

In a room across the way.

Late in the day.

Sunday in May kind of quiet.

Not much to think or say.

The dog still there.

Their window opens wide

Despite the drops of rain.

Silent drops,

Blurring my windowpane.

This morning in the Thurston house:
I can hardly contain myself, "Michael! Hurry! Look at this bird sitting on the fence next door."

I hear him from the back of the house, "Hold on."

"Hurry! Before it takes off!"

"Where?" he says, peering out the kitchen window.

"It's over there, on the top of the neighbors fence. What is that? It looks like a vulture, a baby vulture. Oh! Maybe it's a hawk."

"That?"

"Yeah, look at it's beak. It's kind of curved. Maybe it's a baby vulture".

And honestly, there are a lot of vulturers around here. Not as many as there once was but they still loom large.

"Are you sure that's not a chicken?" he asks.

"No way. I'm gonna get the binoculors."

He relents because I'm so excited. Says maybe it could be a baby vulture but it looked too small.
He's still looking at it out the window while I'm trying to focus. I never could get the hang of binoculors with eyeglasses. But does it matter? No. The damn thing crowed. A cockadoodle-doo rang out over the sleepy neighborhood.

"Yah, that's a chicken" he says.

"Don't tell anyone about this. Okay?"

I do believe we have a new clinic cat. Okay, clinic kitten. She was brought in several weeks ago now with her front leg half gone. She had climbed up into the engine of a client's car, as cats will do, and met with tragedy when the key was turned. She was a stray and stayed for quarantine since she had bit someone in her fit of what must have been excruciating pain but quarantine was over a long time ago and she's still with us. She's had surgery to remove what was left of her leg and we all adore her. Her name is Tres Leggies, (bastardized Spanish at an all time low, I know) and she gives the other cats a run for their money.

So I'm back at work after a very nice week of rest and relaxation. The perks of work are that I get to take a pet with me, I get discounts that make pet ownership a pleasure rather than a burden and my co-workers are great people. So I'm back and in the right frame of mind to spend the better part of my days there.