Inspired by Will, encouraged by Maria, my writing partner this
week, I have been playing around with 2 line stanza pieces. I
don't really know what I'm doing, but it's fun to try something
new and Maria says "brava, you must do this for an entire week",
and so I am, without fear or silly pride. I am working on one
for commano now...yes, I am a woman of courage.
So first, here is Will's from last week. I wrote and asked him
if I could publish it and he said "yes", but he wanted to rearrange
a few lines. Oh, background. Will is in our writing group, but
he spends the summers with his wife, Valerie, in Provincetown. He is
a faithful Round Robin student too, realizing that we must write
every day. Will is the one who adds a gazillion commas and other
tedious punctuation marks to my work and this blog title reflects
his influence over me. 'Nuff said...now to Will.
Prompt: THE FOG
Writer: Will Walker
He doesn’t know what to do, he says, he’s reached 67
and he finds he’s been on a path without heart,
and he doesn't know what to do now, and I say, well,
that’s a spiritual question, and I’m so pleased with myself
to have understood his plight I say it again, it’s a spiritual question,
and then I go home, and sleep and wake and walk the dogs
and ponder, and realize I’ve been talking to some version
of my father, a man who went into medicine because he thought
he couldn’t be a chemist, and I want to rush back and tell Bob
this surprising news, and all the time I’m standing with him
at the edge of the Big Empty, and I know how he feels,
you get somewhere you think is the somewhere
you’ve been traveling to, and there’s no there there,
and so you pout, and it’s painful, and then you get some lunch
and catch your breath, or maybe eat some chocolate
and later drink a beer and someone says Thank you
for holding the door and life seems okay for the moment
and you realize okay for the moment is all there is
and that’s enough, it really is, and I consider going
back to Bob and saying Kiddo, have you been channeling
Carlos Castaneda or spending too much time with the Jungians,
what is this? your path has no heart, that is just a
goddam fucking knee-slapper of a line, look at your life,
notice the beach house we’re sitting in, the astonishing
harbor spread before the many panes of fine glass
in your windows, the young wife who is smart and cool,
the bike rides you take daily, the neighbor who just brought you
cookies, this fine literate conversation we’re having
about your drunken mother and the damage done, man,
you are a piece of work, people love you, I love you,
and I don’t even know you, and I understand, we all want
to rule the world, but it’s a big world and the abyss is even bigger
and longer and deeper, so go ahead, haul out the ice cream,
I’ll have to pass--I don’t bike thirty miles a day the way you do--
but indulge, buddy, life is good, the universe is insane,
there’s no reason to weep, we can laugh at it all, we can,
we can, and then we can get some sleep or at least rest
and wake up, maybe in the fog, but still wake up
and count it a blessing, and our misspent lives will perhaps
find a use as we notice someone else limping down the sidewalk
and lend them a hand, or not, perhaps just say hello,
isn’t the fog thick today, like pea soup, let’s hope it
burns off after we’ve enjoyed it for another hour or two.
