And water lies plainly
By Laurie Sheck
Then I came to an edge of very calm
But couldn’t stay there. It was the washed greenblue mapmakers use to indicate
Inlets and coves, softbroken contours where the land leaves off
And water lies plainly, as if lamped by its own justice. I hardly know how to say how it was
Though it spoke to me most kindly,
Unlike a hard afterwards or the motions of forestalling.
Now in evening light the far-off ridge carries marks of burning.
The hills turn thundercolored, and my thoughts move toward them, rough skins
Without their bodies. What is the part of us that feels it isn’t named, that doesn’t know
How to respond to any name? That scarcely or not at all can lift its head
Into the blue and so unfold there?
I have nothing at all to report except that the fans are still blowing, the ceiling still has holes and the cats are still not happy. Thursday morning the guys from the company that set up the fans are coming to take them away and examine the drywall and wood to see how much more will have to be removed and replaced. Friday morning the insurance claims people are coming to look at their work and tell us exactly what is and is not covered. (They sent the company with the fans, so restoring the carpet padding and ceilings at least will be covered; whether the carpet itself will be covered and various paint damage is another question.) I was supposed to have lunch with my mother and friends, but that obviously will have to be postponed. Adam, at least, felt well enough for school.
I half-watched a lot of TV while trying to get various things done on the computer and in the living room which is piled high with boxes and furniture placed at odd angles to accommodate the fans and dehumidifiers. Pushing Daisies was terrific, better than last week I think, reminding me alternately of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and A Series of Unfortunate Events -- it has a very British feel, and I don't just mean because of the Jim Dale narration.