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From Marie Howe's What the Living Do......
I've been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday,
hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down
my wrist and sleeve
I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: Thisis it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called
that yearning.
What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the
winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not to call, a letter, a kiss-we want more and
more and then more of it.
But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself
in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I'm gripped by a
cherishing so deep
for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that
I'm speechless:
I am living, I remember you. Pimp My Profile