by Ann Stoker
Happy Anniversary, Edith and Gerald
A man stood, accompanied by his wife of many years,
and looked down upon the waves crashing many feet
below the cliff which they often walked along. The
man turned to the woman and said, “The ceaselessness
before us recalls, for me, an unrelenting homesickness.”
He sighed quietly, “The world is too wide for us now,
Edith.” It was after so many half-lived years that the
man knew his alienation was the truest symptom of an
unalterable condition. Several minutes had passed before
his wife turned to him, “My dear,” she said, taking him
firmly by the arm, “You know that your real self has not
yet touched, may never touch, my own.” The waves
crashed and a fine mist enveloped the couple as they
stood on the cliff. “This,” she said, giving him one
firm push, “is what I find most intoxicating.”
Poem with a line from Bachmann
Tonight, with wet hair and pinpricked eyes
I am caught in my father’s avalanche –
Immense and all white.
By morning, I lie beneath a lover
All I see is jet-black and damp, the back of a skull:
Head turned in defiance of the sentimental.
My love, I am your routine,
thinking happy, happy, happy.
Here is the eternal war.