“Aimless Love”

This morning as I walked along the lakeshore,
I fell in love with a wren
and later in the day with a mouse
the cat had dropped under the dining room table.

In the shadows of an autumn evening,
I fell for a seamstress
still at her machine in the tailor’s window,
and later for a bowl of broth,
steam rising like smoke from a a naval battle.

This is the best kind of love, I thought,
without recompense, without gifts,
or unkind words, without suspicion,
or silence on the telephone.

The love of a chestnut,
the jazz cap and one hand on the wheel.

No lust, no slam of the door—
the love of the miniature orange tree,
the clean white shirt, the hot evening shower,
the highway that cuts across Florida.

No waiting, no huffiness, or rancor—
just a twinge every now and then

for the wren who had built her nest
on a low branch overhanging the water
and for the dead mouse,
still dressed in its light brown suit.

But my heart is always propped up
in a field in its tripod,
ready for the next arrow.

After I carried the mouse by the tail
into a pile of leaves in the woods,
I found myself standing at the bathroom sink
gazing down affectionately at the soap,

so patient and soluble,
so at home it its pale green soap dish.
I could feel myself falling again
as I felt its turning in my wet hands
and caught in the scent of lavender and stone.

—Billy Collins, Nine Horses

I wake up every morning, and I feel something strange and different. There are certain people I should thank for telling me things I didn’t want to hear, but needed to hear, and for nagging me when I began to forget. It’s time to get serious and starting putting a dent in that blockade. Everything really is beautiful, and for no particular reason, I’m smitten. Unfortunately, I forget all of that once I fire up my browser. In short, hiatus for the time being, as the Internet kills creativity.

Lady Luck hates me. I think she really does. I’ve overcome the angst and the longing that goes along with our non-existent relationship, but with the occurrences of today, I’ve concluded that her evil, jinxed twin seems to take a liking to me. At times it can be terrifying, but overall, I find my star-crossed fate pretty hilarious…sometimes. I think she especially enjoys spending time with me and anyone I encounter on Friday the thirteenth. As you would expect, today was no different. Long story short, after whining about wanting to get out after being cooped up for the past few weeks, my parents relent and take us out for some cheap dinner. I won’t complain, it was tasty recession fare, and my tummy is happy. The drive home, however, was interesting. The car ends up overheating, we’re stuck for a while, stranded on the side of the road. My parents try contacting relatives close by, but no one picks up except for an aunt who was at a Bible study. Meanwhile, my sister climbs into the roomy trunk, tries to nap briefly, while I’m sitting quietly with my DS as we wait for my aunt to pick us up. It was nice of her to give us a lift, especially since we were sort of an interruption for her.

I guess on the bright side, things turned out okay in the end, and I can’t complain about that. Good night friday, tomorrow is a nice, safe number. Besides, for the most part, I hate prime numbers larger than the number of fingers on my hand (without the polydactyly, of course).