20 may 2013

Miss Vee

I know it’s unreasonable

especially for someone like me

who doesn’t cry easily or often

to tell you how often I cry now

how I might show up at your house

unable to say a word without crying

but if I try to explain

it comes out sounding

like something Elizabeth Bishop said better

in a poem that’s in a book I’ve lost

along with the rest of my books

all my journals & my mother’s journal

half my clothes plus everything else

Mike didn’t bring back in his luggage

when he returned from Argentina

things I don’t even ask about

like the chenille throw Susan gave me

the fossil rock Ben gave me

material things I cared for

yet those are the least of it

so far behind 

horses cropping alfalfa out windows

that leaked in every rain

onto the windowsills & down 

along the badly set & poorly caulked frames

wet that streaked the paint

of many colors — kiwi & mauve

jalapeño, sunset, goldfinch

erasure

so swift & violent

I scrubbed every trace from my computer & the web

every picture, every glimpse exists

only in my head now

how foxes walked

softly on small feet

how parrots tipped forward & back

on wires holding grapevines

how doves paraded beside the pond

balanced on rocks, dipped their beaks to drink

how toads floated on loose limbs

at the pond rim

how as a kitten

my cat fell in the pond

how she must have clawed her way

up from the water

how I saw her — legs bent, belly dragging

back to the house

where I lifted her, wrapped her in towels

a shivering frightened small cat

the same one who arched her back, fur high 

swagger-hopped out to take the fox

before I grabbed her

rushed her into the house where she would be safe

I miss her more than the mountains

burning red at dawn
more than the llama-wool rugs

beneath my bare feet

more than my red plush chair