The Great Gulf - Richard Shelton

Between us and you there is a

great gulf fixed: so that they

which would pass from hence to you

cannot; neither can they pass to us,

that would come from thence.

                                     Luke 16:26

 

       1

 

At night when each dark shape in the desert

glows in the light of its own penumbra

I take the road by one white hand

and lead it to a deep arroyo, a dry wash

in which the river lives when it is home.

Stones remain where the water dropped them

and beneath them aged scorpions sleep

in small hotels with no view at all.

The sand is cool. I wonder if the river

will be here when I need to drown.

 

       2

 

We choose from what is available and fall

in love: anchorites with spiders, sailors

with each other; the bleeding foot

returns to embrace the shattered glass;

the overdose goes in search of an addict;

and those who are too much afraid

fall in love with their fear.

 

       3

 

I was broken by love but I was

so well repaired I can pass for anybody,

standing here where a river used to be.

In one hand my prayers, in the other the answers,

with a great gulf fixed between them.

 

To get here I dragged my shadow

over sharp stones and felt its cuts

and bruises. But the river was dry.

 

Oh Jesus Christ

and all my fingers losing their rings!

What will become of me when I offer

my soul to the Devil and he doesn’t

want it? What will I do

when there is no one left to betray?

MIDNIGHT - Louise Glück

Speak to me, aching heart: what

ridiculous errand are you inventing for yourself

weeping in the dark garage

with your sack of garbage: it is not your job

to take out the garbage, it is your job

to empty the dishwasher. You are showing off again,

exactly as you did in childhood—where

is your sporting side, your famous

ironic detachment? A little moonlight hits

the broken window, a little summer moonlight, tender

murmurs from the earth with its ready sweetnesses—

is this the way you communicate

with your husband, not answering

when he calls, or is this the way the heart

behaves when it grieves: it wants to be

alone with the garbage? If I were you,

I’d think ahead. After fifteen years,

his voice could be getting tired; some night

if you don’t answer, someone else will answer.

Confession - Samantha King

I hate you wouldn’t quite do it

I forgive you isn’t quite my speed

I regret meeting you would be a lie

The best thing for me

was removing you from my life

That, I am sure of