Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
One day in that room, a small rat.
Two days later, a snake.
Who, seeing me enter,
whipped the long stripe of his
body under the bed,
then curled like a docile house-pet.
I don’t know how either came or left.
Later, the flashlight found nothing.
For a year I watched
as something—terror? happiness? grief?—
entered and then left my body.
Not knowing how it came in,
Not knowing how it went out.
It hung where words could not reach it.
It slept where light could not go.
Its scent was neither snake nor rat,
neither sensualist nor ascetic.
There are openings in our lives
of which we know nothing.
the belled herds travel at will,
long-legged and thirsty, covered with foreign dust.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
This is the first Saturday in months that I haven't had to get up early or be somewhere. I slept in a bit (although that's harder to do these days--my automatic wake-up time has gotten much earlier in the past few years), ran an errand or two, and then headed to my office on campus to get some work done. But then, since there's a big football game today and a ton of other stuff going on, I couldn't find a parking spot. (That never happens.) I thought, "Okay, I guess I'll go home." So here I am, sitting at home on a Saturday, watching some TV, reading a bit (for fun!), and just relaxing. Gotta say, it feels good. I have some work to get to later--grading, more reading, a small research/writing project to get started on--and I will, but for now, it's quite nice to hit the pause button. I need to remind myself that that's what weekends are for.