January 20, 2009


Rendezvous with dweeby Philip in the shower:
ďAubadeĒ taped up on pale blue tile;
I can hear him grumbling through the falling water.
Uncurling steam is scented with a trace of bile,
And Iím as grateful as a thankless child can be.
Someone has been here in this night with me,
Someone whose bitterness, I want to say,
Is even more impressive than my own.
Talking with Larkin on the great white telephone
I let the night be washed out into day

Until itís safe enough to go lie down
And dream of my librarian, my bride.
Perhaps he sits and watches in his dressing gown;
I know he wonít be coming to my side
For fumblings and words he simply canít get out.
That stuff was never what it was about
When he would wake at four oíclock to piss
And part the curtains, let the moon go on
With all the things worth doing, and not done,
The things that others do instead of this.

—Rachel Loden
from her book, Hotel Imperium (Georgia)

Posted by dwaber at January 20, 2009 01:52 PM