This has been one of the grayest, dampest, coolest, rainiest summers that I can recall. I haven’t seen the sun this morning. It poured last night--and today’s forecast calls for showers and thunderstorms in the afternoon and evening. With this Massachusetts weather in mind, I selected the following poem.
A.M. Fog
By Mark Jarman
Night’s afterbirth, last dream before waking,
Holding on with dissolving hands,
Out of it came, not a line of old men,
But pairs of headlights, delaying morning.
It felt like tears, like wetted bedsheets,
And suspended in it like a medicine
In vapor was the ocean’s presence, ghost
Of deep water and the bite of salt.
Here you found your body again,
The hand before your face and the face it touched,
Eyes floating, feet on invisible ground,
Vagueness like another skin.
Sent out into it anyway, because it was morning,
To taste it, touch blind hardness
Like marble ruins, and skirt the edges,
Razors in goosedown, hydrants’ fists.
You can read the rest of the poem here.
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3 comments:
I love this poem, and I know just where you are coming from. It rained every day I was visiting my family. I'm sure that grows old after a while, but the afternoon thunderstorms were quite refreshing.
Now that I'm back in VA with the flowers just desperate for rain, I would love to share in some of your showers!
Tricia,
This afternoon (just after I had left my house to do some food shopping) we had another deluge. I sat in my car in the parking lot of the market and waited until the worst of the thunderstorm had passed. BTW, I'd love to share some of our rain!
Send some of it to Ohio while you're at it!
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