Yesterday, the air was still,
And you and I were wandering
Around and through a living field.
Our hands were joined together as
We brushed the flowers soft and slow
With noiseless and remaindered joy.
For free can mean both without cost
Or without hindrance; each
Was ours to share
across the stars a message read —
one written from forgotten years —
that to our destinies we’re led
despite our deepest hopes, or fears —
so much the energy that’s lost:
the feeble heat of permafrost —
despite all that, though, we are here,
and we can see the message
clear
In springtime we were younger led
‘Neath skies of blue to fields of red,
Where happiness was close to touch
And we did not think overmuch.
How strange the minutes melt to days
And love gets stuck in alleyways
Of city gray and urban blight
That leaves us feeling, but not right.
There were no harbingers to say
“Go back! There was that other way
You used to go, with much less said,
‘Neath skies of blue in fields of red.”
In autumn now, the air grows cold:
I think I know I’ve gotten old,
My words diffuse, my thoughts disjoint —
Am I beside or missed the point?
But you are my all-season love,
And those fields that I’m dreaming of
Were what they were when you were there,
So since you’re here, what do I care?
You belong to me, the way
The earth and sky belong
To all who open wide their lungs
And breathe in every bit of what is there —
For hearts are made of air
And I belong to you the way
The autumn burns in orange gold
As clouds look down in wonder
At a landscape of entrenched desire —
Our hearts are wreathed in fire
The elements of our belief
The fathoming of soul and worth
A day of breath and burn and light
The passion that makes turn the earth
And we belong to us, the way
That yearning night caresses day,
And love holds on to life as long
As there is yet a glint of any light —
For hearts must needs
Unite
{Looking up from a book she’s picked up off the shelf}
So… how much longer?
We should be out of the condo
And back here in six weeks
Wasn’t it originally supposed to be —
Eight weeks, yes.
That was in March.
Then Covid
I’ve missed this place
Yeah, it’s been weird.
It’s just been sitting empty all this time with
A little bit of the floor torn up
I’ve really missed my studio
I know, baby.
That’s why I thought we’d maybe just come by for a little.
Did I tell you I had a dream about this place?
Our house?
No.
What was it?
It was really strange. Disturbing.
You had a mistress, and you
Were using this place to meet her every day
What?!
Yeah.
It was that brunette medical receptionist
You used to date.
Only, she was still the same age
When did you have this dream?
Oh, about a week ago.
I was so hurt. I was pissed at you
But it didn’t really happen!
Yeah… I suppose that would be
A mitigating circumstance.
The two of you were coming here.
Only the furniture was all different.
It looked like a massage parlor
Where do you think she, of all people, came from?
Heaven knows.
Have you ever had dreams like that?
I actually have.
I never understood why anyone
As beautiful as you are would
Be with someone like me.
I’ve watched women’s movies —
Nobody’s dream is to
End up with me
Yeah, well.
Men don’t really understand women,
Or their movies.
She’s married now and has three kids, right?
Kyra, the receptionist?
Last I heard.
It’s been a few years.
Look, you dated fabulous guys.
Why are you worried about someone
I dated for two months, years ago?
I’m not sure.
I don’t think it’s coming from being worried,
Or jealous, or anything.
In a weird way, the dream seems like
It was more about this house
How so?
You say often that you know I miss being here.
But I think you might, even more.
It’s been hard for either of us to have any privacy
In the condo
True.
But I don’t see how that translates into
Me having an affair
Dreams are weird.
You were so casual about it, too.
You were like, “You need to leave,
Kyra is going to be here in a few minutes”
That doesn’t sound like an affair
Then you said,
“I’ve been meeting her every day. For sex.”
Maybe I was kidding
Then she showed up, and she was
Barely wearing anything
I could see where you could misinterpret that
Men don’t understand anything
I turned out to be a beautiful day
It finally feels like Fall!
About time
Yeah, the Summer, like most of 2020,
Has kinda outstayed its welcome
No lie…
I just got a text. Hmmm.
Did you know there was going to be
A presidential election this year?
Seems like I’d heard
Something about it, yes
Well, this person says
I still have time to
Make a difference in the election
For what candidate?
One I’ve never heard of.
That takes some doing.
You are like a political
Fountain of obscure facts
Now I have to look this person up.
You really don’t.
It’s probably like the Merovingian Party
Close.
It’s called the “Bread and Roses” Party
Two things worth having
If you had to name a political party
Using only two everyday material items,
What would you pick?
So I can’t use words like ‘truth’?
Nope
How about…
Apples and bananas?
{Laughs} Why do I even ask you questions?
What two words would you use?
How about “earth and stars”?
People are in favor of those
I don’t know.
The earth gets walked all over,
And the only star we care about
Lives in the neighborhood
How far have we walked?
So far?
One point eight miles
Let’s go back
You going to research this party?
In the car, maybe.
I know you hate politics, but,
I find it fascinating
To me, government is like salt.
You put it on everything,
You end up unhealthy
I actually sort of agree.
It’s finding the right amounts
To put in things, though
Does anybody ever?
Maybe not.
With politics, you have hear the music
Underneath all the noise.
It can be beautiful
You almost convince me
You know I’m right.
Let me know how the research goes.
I will in… one point seven miles
a little boy in back of class
is struggling with each word;
his voice is not a strong one, and
it’s rarely ever heard
no gold stars on his papers, for
his efforts seem but small;
he isn’t anyone to watch,
not anyone at all
the day of graduation comes
and no one in the stands,
calls out his name across the stage,
no cousins, aunts, or grands
he’d never been a scholar, he
was no good with a ball;
he was no one of great regard,
nor anyone at all
he’d watch her from some ways away,
but was no kind of stalker;
he left off all that he might say
as he was not a talker
he never was a special guy,
not handsome, and not tall —
he wasn’t anyone she’d love,
not anyone at all
the night is closing in, and he
his taking his last rest;
he’s found that feeling nothing is
the feeling he likes best
just one more shovel in the dirt,
as rain begins to fall —
as no one mourns where no one lies,
not anyone
at all
[The following conversation took place a few years ago. – Owen]
So why did you decide to come out here to work?
I don’t know.
Being home was getting to me
You’ve been seeming kind of depressed
I am.
I’m a little lost, professionally
Explain
Being in the arts is… very precarious.
No matter how you slice it, it actually is
A popularity contest.
Do people want to see my work?
To buy it?
Or do they prefer someone else’s?
… and…?
… and, it feels like
I don’t have any friends anymore.
How so?
I text people, but
They don’t text back…
Unless they need something.
I miss having girl friends to do things with.
I’d love a game night, a trivia night,
You know, someplace where I can just let go.
…
I don’t know, I just
Feel wrong.
Unimportant.
Like what I do doesn’t matter,
Like I don’t matter, and
Like.. garbage, really
Does sitting outside help?
Yes.
It’s peaceful out here
Good
So…
What do you think about what I just said?
That, that’s got to be really hard,
Feeling all of that.
Depression is really… hard
Yes.
Do you have any suggestions?
Your work is amazing, and it (and you) will find your audience.
Friends are hard. I don’t have a great answer there other than to say
Not to give up trying. If I wasn’t your husband, I’d want to be your friend,
Because you’re pretty cool
Thank you.
Why don’t you and I do something this weekend?
Like what?
Why don’t we go up to Bugg’s Mill Farm tomorrow?
I don’t think so. I’m not really a farmer
It’s not farming. It’s horseback riding
I don’t know… oh, okay.
I’ll go.
But I hear it’s supposed to rain.
Thank you.
Please don’t think when I’m depressed it’s because
I don’t appreciate you
That thought has crossed my mind.
But — I hear — everything is not about me
Hard to fathom isn’t it?
