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Saturday, July 11, 2009
Abandoned
Empty cupboards
and bare walls:
did you know
that we had gone?
What did you feel
that first long night alone?
A sigh at every window,
gray hands upon each knob.
And when strangers hurried on?
I drove them mad with groans,
made their fires all go out.
A wise approach. And now?
I’m as mad as anyone.
From Songs and Letters, originally published November 15, 2006.
Note: We’re in the process of moving to my mother’s house. We won’t have an Internet connection there until Thursday, July 16. The connection in this house will be on through that date, but I don’t know how practical it will be to work on the floor in the corner of a dusty bedroom — and yet, it’s tempting to try....
Updates:
A short note about our historic move added to News and Reviews.
In the Forum: anti-smirk training.
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9 comments:
There's nothing like moving house to inspire a sharp awareness of transience—hence the melancholy of it even when the destination is somewhere exciting. Will you still be in Salem?
Yes. In fact, despite the emotional, psychological distance, my mother’s house is less than a mile and a half away — shorter as the crowku flies....
Good to know your move is near and dear.
Your moving on is like I would leave this world lucky and sad in ONE...
Thanks, Brian. That it is.
Rudhi, a poignant, beautiful thought.
Do you ever wonder if your life was better without the internet? There was perhaps more time to think... but you don't seem to have a problem with that :)
On the contrary, thinking is my main problem! Better, I don’t know. Different. But a lot of other things have changed too, so it’s hard to untangle.
Best wishes on the move. Lots of work, but always the chance to 'start' anew. Funny the things we think have to be taken care of right away versus the things that can wait.
Yes, for instance, the first things I packed up and moved a few weeks ago (which seems like an eternity) were my books and bookcases, which are already set up in my new work space and waiting for me when we arrive. I hate not having books around. It’s like working in a motel room. Not that motel rooms don’t have their own strange writing-on-the-road appeal.
Thanks for the good wishes. In a few minutes, I’ll have to leave this shaky card table in start tending to business. It’s funny — I have this crazy feeling that I shouldn’t budge, that I should sit here typing while everything is carted out around me. Fiddling while Rome burns, or something like that.
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