paper on porch
Ad Photo,
The Spokesman Review 


I could say,
(answering questions
I don't have to ask),
extricating myself from
this tangle of arms and legs
that is us,
breaths inhaled and exhaled,
sometimes in unison,
mostly, not;
mornings watching each other awake;
grumbling, smiling, yawning,
this repeating kaleidoscope of our days
an indelible imprint.

Our once-wild rollercoaster of days, 
now a safe passage on the Union Pacific,
slow swaying cars,
straight tracks through endless plains,
yawns tethered to Cable,
our foreground of dishes and beercans;
wild aspirations tamed
with familiar expectations.
"How did we get here?",
(you never ask)
"We were left here",
(I would reply)
"in this patient embrace,
dumped here like flotsam
by the current of our wild
that still manage to lap at our feet
at odd, wonderful times, 
whispering 'do you remember?'"

And I remember,
me, bringing you roses
or pastries,
the street vendors  
who would remember my name;
now I bring you the paper
from the front doorstep
(if I remember.)

Jon Bohrn  2001



previous | index | next