Читать книгу Mercy Wears a Red Dress - David Craig - Страница 10

so I don’t eat too much,

but then I have a second helping.

This happens—so it must be metaphor:

a human being, tying to lose what won’t leave,

trying to catch what he can’t.

Either is on point, and both better

than the alternative, which is what happens

when one becomes—how else to put it—

contemporary?

Do they hide underneath my table

when forgotten: metaphors, I mean?

Do they finally make peace with the Easter Bunny,

the length of childhood? I like to think of them

under there with the dog, at the ready,

to play if all else fails. Or if else does not.

They are the bulbs on my Christmas tree,

make-up on a beautiful woman.

They are every day you’re not here!

But even if you were, that would only

be for a time, wouldn’t it? And then

the mundane takes over again, with all its

little jobs and goings. And that’s okay,

at least until I wake again, early,

listen to the heavenly shuffle.

I need to prepare a place for you, just in case

you arrive, and for me as well—

the one I’m happiest with.

Of course most of my days are spent

on family, making this cushion set right

for Sally, putting that train back on track

for Bill, watching the whole scene

with my wife as the sun sets,

her sipping her lemon pekoe tea.

The bells ring on the tree then,

of their own accord. But there are no movies,

no Wonderful Lifes besides this one,

which just happened

as it sometimes does.