Sunday, December 13, 2015

Poem for Sunday and Birthday Weekend

Ephemeral Stream
By Elizabeth Willis

This is the way water
thinks about the desert.
The way the thought of water
gives you something
to stumble on. A ghost river.
A sentence trailing off
toward lower ground.
A finger pointing
at the rest of the show.

I wanted to read it.
I wanted to write a poem
and call it "Ephemeral Stream"
and dedicate it to you
because you made of this
imaginary creek
a hole so deep
it looked like a green eye
taking in the storm,
a poem interrupted
by forgiveness.

It's not over yet.
A dream can spend
all night fighting off
the morning. Let me
start again. A stream
may be a branch or a beck,
a crick or kill or lick,
a syke, a runnel. It pours
through a corridor. The door
is open. The keys
are on the dashboard.


On Saturday, we went to visit Paul's parents in Hanover. My mother-in-law had a brief stay in the hospital last week, but (knock wood) it looks like her health situation is much better now! We watched the UConn-Ohio State game, had pizza and birthday cake, and brought her a Kindle for Chanukah so she can get online with her feet up.

When we got home, we were in the mood for A Mighty Wind, which remains a complete delight (and I unironically adore the music). Then I watched Tangled with Cheryl long distance because we'd never seen it and that seemed like a good way to end a couple of days of birthday celebrating, along with Chris Hemsworth on SNL now!

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