Reset Forty-Five, Day Twenty-Five
Oct. 30th, 2022 06:12 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rejectomorphWell there we go, I remembered what I was doing before I got hung up doing that other thing and lost track of time. And the other thing wasn't even worth mentioning, except to say that it wasn't worth mentioning and took up too much time. Anyway I didn't take a nap Saturday and probably should have since I've started developing one of those annoying low grade headaches, and I wish I'd slept through it.
But part of the near-balmy afternoon was pleasant enough, even though it started rather late, and there was much singing from the mockingbird, and I even heard a raven a few times, though I didn't see it. Thoughts as usual held my attention but didn't stick around, which is probably odd, as it didn't used to be that way, but it could be just more age related brain deterioration. I remember I kept wanting cookies but not any of the kinds I have on hand.
Instead of dinner there was some macaroni salad, but I still felt stuffed. At least I stopped craving cookies for a while. Now I'm drinking a white Russian, with milk instead of cream, which I have none of (I thought I might stop calling them white Russians and start calling them Slava Ukraines, but decided that that was too much like Liberty Cabbage and Freedom Fries, which I found ridiculous. But whatever I call it, it helps me sleep.) In a few minutes I'll get a piece of chocolate, and that will, for a while, redeem the day. Then I will sleep through most of the warm Sunday. I can't think of anything better to do with it. There will be chilly insomnia soon enough.
Sunday Verse
by Cyril Wong
After great pain, what would the body
learn that it does not already know
of relief? When that fire-truck has raged
past, what do I rediscover about silence
except that I would always miss it?
Do trees mind if it is the same wind
that passes through their heads everyday?
After the mall is completed, must we
remember the field it now inhabits
where we raced each other as children?
If my lover forgets to wake me with a kiss
a second time this week, should I worry?
Does solitude offer strength over time, or
is denial of it the only practical aim?
After the earthquake, would it matter
if no one saw two dogs from different
families approaching each other
without suspicion, then moving apart?
As the workers wash their faces hidden
by helmets that beam back the sun,
should they care about the new building
behind them beyond a fear of it falling?
If my mother cannot see how else to be
happy, is it enough that she may lie
in bed, convinced God watches her sleep?
After deep loss, what does the heart
learn that it has not already understood
about regret? When all light finally
forsakes a room, do we take the time
to interrogate the dark, and to what end?
But part of the near-balmy afternoon was pleasant enough, even though it started rather late, and there was much singing from the mockingbird, and I even heard a raven a few times, though I didn't see it. Thoughts as usual held my attention but didn't stick around, which is probably odd, as it didn't used to be that way, but it could be just more age related brain deterioration. I remember I kept wanting cookies but not any of the kinds I have on hand.
Instead of dinner there was some macaroni salad, but I still felt stuffed. At least I stopped craving cookies for a while. Now I'm drinking a white Russian, with milk instead of cream, which I have none of (I thought I might stop calling them white Russians and start calling them Slava Ukraines, but decided that that was too much like Liberty Cabbage and Freedom Fries, which I found ridiculous. But whatever I call it, it helps me sleep.) In a few minutes I'll get a piece of chocolate, and that will, for a while, redeem the day. Then I will sleep through most of the warm Sunday. I can't think of anything better to do with it. There will be chilly insomnia soon enough.
Sunday Verse
Practical Aim
by Cyril Wong
After great pain, what would the body
learn that it does not already know
of relief? When that fire-truck has raged
past, what do I rediscover about silence
except that I would always miss it?
Do trees mind if it is the same wind
that passes through their heads everyday?
After the mall is completed, must we
remember the field it now inhabits
where we raced each other as children?
If my lover forgets to wake me with a kiss
a second time this week, should I worry?
Does solitude offer strength over time, or
is denial of it the only practical aim?
After the earthquake, would it matter
if no one saw two dogs from different
families approaching each other
without suspicion, then moving apart?
As the workers wash their faces hidden
by helmets that beam back the sun,
should they care about the new building
behind them beyond a fear of it falling?
If my mother cannot see how else to be
happy, is it enough that she may lie
in bed, convinced God watches her sleep?
After deep loss, what does the heart
learn that it has not already understood
about regret? When all light finally
forsakes a room, do we take the time
to interrogate the dark, and to what end?
