IN THE MOVING PULL OF LIFE
WE MINIMIZE FOREVER
What would you like to do with
this space? And your own belongings?
This is a storage area, always
open for whatever is left over.
If you bring too much, the weight of gravity
will be heavier than you can imagine.
We can hardly move through the rooms
of your life as it is. How do you expect
to lock the door when there is always
something more to bring in and take out?
The extremes of large and small
dot the “i” with a closet-mentality.
Fry fish in a pan. Watch the meat fall
off the bones. Watch for what is not seen.
The calm nothingness is set up to deceive.
Even an empty mind is not a neutral place.
The turtle man writes me about the dog, Lucy,
getting old and beginning to limp, and how his
friend, Wolfgang, in Germany, caught the train
to Paris for the ping-pong games. “Wouldn’t it
be nice,” turtle man says, “to be a train ride away
from Paris?” Then he spoke of Radar, the cat, who
recently got neutered and how he refuses
to look at any of the family, or allow them
near him. In answer I, the dog girl of summer,
write back and tell him how my barking
annoys the neighbors and how it used to be
when I thought about more than food or barking.
The BART goes underneath the bay
from Oakland to San Francisco. I lick water
from my bowl.