first i saw you in the faces of your two blond sons
their faces like men.
when i met you you stood in the doorway at my house
a baby on my hip
the light behind you but your face so bright that for a
moment
i forgot to ask you in.
downstairs you marched like a stiff tin soldier
marking out the dimensions of my basement
i wanted you to be in a row boat
pulled up at the jetty
the water black and endless behind you
no shore.
i told you i would stand at the end and pass you
light boxes
they would float out of my arms
one after the other
more and more
endlessly passing.
i told you that
i told you i dreamt i gave you boxes
boxes out of my mind.
but i still have them
and they are heavy
they are stacked into tall towers and block the light
there is hardly any space to move
the air suffocates with the smell of old newspapers.
i am not even sure where i left you
as i ran away my feet slipping on the wet boards
the damp air clinging to my back
my skirt wet against my legs
you sobbing out.
now we pass each other in the street without speaking
you see no one wants any one else’s pain
there is no room for it
no where to take it away.
we just all have to keep on stepping out the
measurements
watching
trying not to see
something
we can’t have.
This one is special.