I Think Grief
Maybe—Doesn’t It?—
Starts Like This:
Suppose you leave today
Suppose you take all your own
music and sit-
uate it
in the speakers
of your car loud
Suppose you sweat leaving
the driveway but don’t look
back not even for that
perpetual
last
check
perhaps
or Suppose worse you don’t stop on your way
out don’t even look
or maybe Suppose
you can’t see me or find time for me the time
a brief rendezvous:
I told you they were showing
Thoreau not far from here I wanted
to take you the last time
I called you from Walden
holding you
in the phone
beside an old cairn Whitman wrote
about, setting stones
when he stood here
I called you
mud on my shoes
I’d slipped in the marsh
across from the pond
and then taken it all
back home
with me:
where he walked...
and suppose you went too
and suppose you went too
anyway I’m afraid
maybe
you are too far away now Suppose suppose
just suppose
you’re supposed to leave today
Suppose you stay
one more day waiting
the snow the wet heavy snow-- Listen it’s just one day
into Fall--the snow
into Fall--the snow
is still
months away
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