Maybe The Other Side could follow On the Right Day, Max. I like 'if that'
addendum to 'you only live once'. Notion of lifting brain fog on a stroll
is well explored.
Bill
On Wednesday, 4 May 2016, Max Richards <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Stepping Out and Back - Six Steps
>
> 1. Stir Crazy
>
> Just as I stepped out
> the weather went bad -
> should have turned back -
>
> hunched along to the
> bus shelter while it
> worsened. At least
>
> the bus came, direct
> to Downtown without event.
> You only live once - if that.
>
> Downtown! - wet ‘Easter
> Sunday closed’ signs
> made worse worst.
>
> Still, tourists at the Market
> make each and every day
> a bustling time, cellphones
>
> out for selfies, excuse me.
> You live once only - if that.
> Or is this yet another
>
> deja vu? standing here
> grimacing out at the rain?
> Same old stalls, same old
>
> spruikers, same old joke
> pix showing wet Seattle
> to please new tourists.
>
> Sure, the seafood’s fresh.
> Rather here than cooped up
> at home, wouldn’t you say?
>
> Dodge the Pike Street traffic
> to the stop for the bus back.
> You live only once - if that.
>
>
> 2. Brain Fog Weather
>
> Stepping out again
> taking my brain fog with me -
> maybe it’ll lift along the way,
>
> maybe not. It’s brain fog
> weather all along the street
> round the corner up
>
> the hill along the ridge,
> overhead, underfoot.
> Try the park, always neat,
>
> somewhere to sit,
> children to watch? -
> get my bearings,
>
> register not weather
> so much as season.
> That toddler stands
>
> unstable but reaching
> up, stretching forward.
> Name those flowers -
>
> too hard. Now is
> the springtime renewal
> of my distemper.
>
> Last night’s gale culled
> from this sycamore tree
> tiny winged seed-pods
>
> like green bodiless
> insects strewn park-wide
> under our feet
>
> as if vainly to propagate
> itself a millionfold
> in the vicinity.
>
> Premature, surely.
> Another million
> maintain their grip
>
> on the old tree,
> profligate tenacity.
> Learn from this?
>
> Submit in patience.
> Endure whatever
> is the weather.
>
>
> 3. On the Right Day
>
> Step out now uphill
> towards the park -
> unless the sky is dark,
>
> unless legs and will
> falter. If you make it,
> letting the keen dog lead,
>
> keeping the leash taut
> up East Prospect Street,
> the last steps, concrete
>
> and steep, release you
> into wide green walks
> along which another
>
> with off-leash dog
> spontaneously talks
> as if no stranger.
>
> Parks do this, pets
> and children do this.
> Anger, sensed danger,
>
> fade under these trees.
> Sunshine, mild breeze
> on the right day release
>
> walkers and companion
> animals in free union,
> give or take some tension
>
> between skittish
> dogs with suspicions.
> Squirrels flaunt silver fronds,
>
> joggers their bronzed youth.
> Run free! or if you’re
> old as me, amble more
>
> freely knowing from here
> to home is downhill,
> no pressure, so long
>
> as the sky stays clear.
> Walking this easy way
> should get us out another day.
>
>
> 4. Vote Weed
>
> This morning’s still
> brightening hill,
> park, reservoir.
>
> Here once open-air
> concerts would gather
> happy crowds. High
>
> on music and whatever
> they’d strip and dip
> in municipal water.
>
> A strong tall fence
> ensures that since
> such high jinks
>
> no music fan
> will ever again
> dare dirty the drink
>
> or even drown.
> Read the stern sign.
> Today at the sound-shell
>
> musicians prepare
> a midday concert
> in loud support
>
> of marijuana.
> A stout bearded guy
> dressed as Green Santa
>
> trundles his wheelchair
> and pit bull on stage.
> Tables display weed-gear
>
> and propaganda:
> Vote Weed this election year.
> The band sounds Jamaican.
>
> Families are picnicking
> on the slope, others sharing
> reefer, hookah, bong.
>
> I smile, and move along.
>
>
> 5. The Other Side
>
> Alex, sent us by Lyft, picks us up
> to take us the short trip home.
> Hearing my wife is here to study,
> asks: studying what? Spirituality.
>
> What’s it about? How we find meaning
> in our lives. He says he’s had the luck
> already to visit the other side -
> when twelve, playing rough with his friend
>
> in the pool, he'd drowned. While dead, he saw
> the real world, but he returned to this,
> much to his friend’s relief. The other side
> is beyond time, peopled, where you choose
>
> the life you are born into, your life here,
> after which you return. So he has
> no fear of death. If there is a God,
> He’s invisible but like the tree of all
> and we are like leaves, here till we fall.
>
>
> 6. By Night
>
> Stepping out each night,
> last thing, as dogs require,
> brings to their humans
> repeats of before -
>
> without clear sight-lines,
> with doubting footfalls.
> Between street lamps
> are dark dubious zones.
>
> Uneven pavement,
> a hidden puddle,
> a sudden slither
> or slip, trip, tumble -
>
> these mean taking care -
> these diminish
> the relish of fresh air,
> of high night sky
>
> with bright-lit airliners
> plying between here
> and Vancouver.
> Also at this hour
>
> smokers ostracised
> outdoors dawdle over
> their day’s last fag drag.
> We’re tolerant, dog
>
> and I, inhale their smoke,
> stifling the joke
> of pretending to choke.
> To each their addiction.
>
> Our destination -
> that unpredictable
> halting-place, location -
> dog of a sudden
>
> squats - the timely relief,
> the slow or brief reprieve.
> Otherwise, slow minutes
> pass on a multi-block
>
> trudge - now? surely now?
> postpone till tomorrow?
> Are the stars clouding over
> preparing a shower?
>
> Good good dog. The turn
> towards home, duty done,
> whichever way back is shortest,
> our beds offer their best promise.
>
> Seattle, May 2016
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