A MEMORY OF HER LODGED
IN WET AIR AND SKIN

If the slightly wet air in the skin is the hillside
is wherever I have to forgive what I have forgotten
is error unretrieved from clouds over ponds
is we’re going swimming she said.
What I can’t remember is what I can’t feel —
the same moist air almost going as the cloud from hill to hill
and what she looked like when we had hung about indifferent to time
and place.

We had to forgive the backs of knees when it rained
and you can’t go in during a storm she said
you can’t go swimming after lunch and waiting for her to turn around
in the wet air through the length of a 40 years’ day.

Martha Ronk
(What, you thought me?!  HA!)

This entry was posted on September 29, 2009 at 2:49 am and is filed under Not a Poet. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.