mis-carrying

we talk of what might be real
how brave we are
we can remember, foretell
our selves, our other selves
the selves before
we are children climbing trees
planted in the grave of an old man's ghost
under tamsen donner's broadcloth skirts
on washington street, 1979

inside of me:
the sweet rage, & the bitter choir

why don't we understand each other?
there's just the one story, told over
and over, broken, the foetus in the wind

By the time I was living on Washington Street, across from Springfield High, in the house with the hundred plus year old cottonwood that I imagined the Donner party leaving Springfield from (and there is some real possibility of that in the historical record), Alison was carrying on with the greek-american poet, Tony Kallas. Someone I respected, poetry-wise, and someone who was a handsome man. It wasn't surprising, and I have to say I never expected sexual faithfulness from A.(although I think her husband believed she was faithful). Still, it comes out in these lines, the sense of an aborted life. Alison once wrote a poem entitled "stillborn" (published in The Village Magazine, 1979). And there is that strong sense to what happened between us, the sense it was never resolved. The lack of closure. Of course I blamed her, and of course she shirked all responsibility. It was her way in those days. Probably still is. Of course, now she's a lawyer so she's really good at it.