Posted on January 18th, 2014
What could I tell them?
That behind the whirling curtain, “There’s a curtain. . . .”
All Em could say, after not letting me go (or go on) –
“What on Earth happened to your shoes, child?”
Before I met you: I loved dust; I gave up training Toto to speak;
Em squeezed my hand with every passing thunderbolt.
Do you see how we dress infinity in a bowtie?
Suspicions grew when Toto stopped aging. Eternal youth.
Em and Henry feared I had made some depraved pact.
We were all of us ever so grateful for your attentions:
You were a welcome cyclone.
You adore me. I am your door to happiness.
How do I tell you that behind the veil you lifted, “There’s another veil. . .”?
We rename the puppy every fifteen years: Toto, Bruno, Arlo.
We travel – dollar by happy dollar, we laud the wonders of this world.
Then the picnic on the shores of New Zealand,
“What’s a Chinese gooseberry?”
We shave our first kiwifruit –
I’m a girl in a white dress wearing glasses, with an Emerald City melting on my tongue.
That very night Toto-Bruno-Arlo wakes us, barking at thunder.
At curtains. . .whirling.
You get up but – “Leave it open,” I say.
“What is it?” You wipe my tear away.
“Husband, somewhere. . .(kiss).
Somewhere outside that window
We will find a man with a green flying balloon.
“And I want to live, to stop disappearing,
To settle and be with you and Arlo –
Wheresoever it lands, or