\nby Julia Kasdorf<\/p>\n
Among the first we learn is good-bye,
\nyour tiny wrist between Dad’s forefinger
\nand thumb forced to wave bye-bye to Mom,
\nwhose hand sails brightly behind a windshield.
\nThen it’s done to make us follow:
\nin a crowded mall, a woman waves, “Bye,
\nwe’re leaving,” and her son stands firm
\nsobbing, until at last he runs after her,
\namong shoppers drifting like sharks
\nwho must drag their great hulks
\nunderwater, even in sleep, or drown.<\/p>\n
Living, we cover vast territories;
\nimagine your life drawn on a map–
\na scribble on the town where you grew up,
\neach bus trip traced between school
\nand home, or a clean line across the sea
\nto a place you flew once. Think of the time
\nand things we accumulate, all the while growing
\nmore conscious of losing and leaving. Aging,
\nour bodies collect wrinkles and scars
\nfor each place the world would not give
\nunder our weight. Our thoughts get laced
\nwith strange aches, sweet as the final chord
\nthat hangs in a guitar’s blond torso.<\/p>\n
Think how a particular ridge of hills
\nfrom a summer of your childhood grows
\nin significance, or one hour of light–
\nlate afternoon, say, when thick sun flings
\nthe shadow of Virginia creeper vines
\nacross the wall of a tiny, white room
\nwhere a girl makes love for the first time.
\nIts leaves tremble like small hands
\nagainst the screen while she weeps
\nin the arms of her bewildered lover.
\nShe’s too young to see that as we gather
\nlosses, we may also grow in love;
\nas in passion, the body shudders
\nand clutches what it must release.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
by Julia Kasdorf Among the first we learn is good-bye, your tiny wrist between Dad’s forefinger and thumb forced to wave bye-bye to Mom, whose hand sails brightly behind a windshield. Then it’s done to make us follow: in a … Continue reading