so i read scott facing thirty seven, and it brought memories of me, just after forty, with a similar sense of loss. except mine thought it was a poem.


she listens with her
skin to the rain on
the boulevard
as cars pass:
a caress, a
promise, & a loss

this is her
mantra, it stirs her,
fills her & ultimately
abandons her

as she assembles her
retrospective, four decades of
missed chances & second &
subsequent thoughts, doubts, mistakes, etc.;
an extensive collection of
losses she presents as an
expression of her

yes, loss, she chants
& passes into her
past, wants to stay & change
everything, even knowing what
she does of events & chains &
time, that is, that
any revision in her
history means the
sacrifice of her whole known
life now

& she is still
willing, saying, yes, i will miss
this & that but
it must be so

& luckily, it
cannot possibly

& so she goes
on, same scars, same
sons & daughter, same dreams
& secrets; selfsame,
she is still the sum of
her consequences &
then some & still sane

just alone now
but for the first time it is less
a loss than a
(a first)
& this changes
things, yes.

23 FEB 2000

3 thoughts on “retrospective

  1. I think I’ve reached an accomodation of some sort. …at least the intensity has diminished. Then again, I’m male: denial is a way of life <g>.

  2. ‘she is still the sum of her consequences’

    wow. this really is a powerful statement. such truth and honesty in it. makes me want to cry. *sniff*

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