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January 03, 2006
A Love Letter - Part I
I.
The hundredth day is the one I can't remember:
Far too many single scents and strands which
Isolated I might recall and indentify as
The stale taste of a downtown fog
Or the big ideas peddled on street-side stands too tall for toddler hands to grasp
Like an artificial heaven which is infinitely more real
Than anything the street lights allowed my young eyes to see.
Far too many moments to disentangle and peg
As decisive spokes on which circle the
Hundred times and hundred minds
Toward which men's thoughts may turn
Like the peripheral glance which picks up on
The silhouette of some forgotten spectre
Or the lingering smell of jasmine:
Of a little girl's playhouse and
All her imagined dreams which her fat fingers
Will display before her eyes and manipulate
With words given to her future
A hundred times over.
These may circle again and some white fog
May bring the early dusk to your front door
Which has admitted so many accumulated years and even decades
When the father of your father had a head full of facts and figures
And even a few more hairs which lacked the glory of his latter days
When he spoke of yesterdays which never had a tomorrow
And the immodest glances he used to share with your grandmother
Of blue collar wages and rusting Chevys and the great baseball magnates
Who built castles of brick and ivy
Which have seen a hundred years before
The triumphal heroes returned within their walls.
But my first fog hovered above the midnight green
Like a cold autumn blanket
Which crawled up on my father and his dark beard
And made his voice echo from within the misty walls
As he told me of a magic chime which tolls only at midnight
When who knows what else is awakened in the woods and the green
On which we lay trying to make out the stars which were playing
A very effective game of hide-and-seek above us
As the city lights a hundred miles away still threatened
To dim the heavens and cause the dark glories which God draped above us
To compete with the big-shouldered silhouette of a million city suns
Which lit the ungodly hours
As an eternal dusk which never gives way to night
And tells of a place which never sleeps -
Not for a hundred years.
Posted by Davey at January 3, 2006 12:10 PM
Comments
Hey hosehead! You never answered my comment on your last post. :-(
Posted by: Isaiah at January 6, 2006 03:00 AM
To the Great and Feared Trailer Lord -
This is an official answer. I almost don't want to know what the heating bill was: the suspense causes me night (and day) terrors.
Anyway, I was going to call you today or tomorrow, which is so much more friendly than a blog comment.
Posted by: Davey at January 6, 2006 08:00 AM
Oh good - make it soon.. I'm starting to get emotionally insecure.
Posted by: Isaiah at January 6, 2006 08:27 AM
Hey remember - if you guess right, you get $20 off!
Posted by: Isaiah at January 8, 2006 05:56 AM