After our talk about my future nears
Feverish disquiet for both of us, I walk
To a park and sit on a bench at night after telling you
That I do not want to follow your plans.
I have done worse, I think.
You call again when I am there, and I see your face
On the phone. But you are not with me.
Am I sitting on that bench right now?
Or am I seeing myself sitting there when you say,
“But what about me? What am I going to do?
What was all this for if you aren’t ... ”
I want to stay in that moment now
And now and now, but I can’t
Remember the rest you said (or are saying)
But only my reply, “I’ll do it then. I’ll do it. I’ll do it myself.
Let me make that choice—” Am I making
Sure to remember every word
(Or am I acting it out) but that is how I know—
And if this memory is a piece falling out
From what really happened, a poor copy usable until the last
Attempt at recall fails and the dark takes it,
Then we will not meet as we met on the bench,
But only here in the moment of this poem
That barely resembles the night,
The echo of which is the foundation of this structure
Without instruments or notations for how fast
Or slow the scene should be played.
I know you are not reading this out loud.
The voice in you is the only sound.
We will never speak as well as it speaks.
There is no true silence because of it.
We are loud despite it, ringing air,
Creating differences that split open—
The ray of sunlight splits through the tree’s
Green leaves and will keep shining on this bench
When I am gone and when the tree is gone
And when this bench is gone
And when you are gone.
Yes, I will come back here.
If I wait long enough before my return
I will not know where this was going.
This bench was a tree with branches.
When they made me play a tree
In a Christmas pageant, I thought there was a tree
In the story, and I stood pretending still.
I was a shade for a doll meant to be the babe
And the doll had a sound box.
A little girl played the mother. She kept crying
When we needed her to sit on the stage.
We got a bench for her.
Not knowing what her character will go through
After the event we players were a part of
On the stage, the girl rocked her lifeless doll
To sleep. And I sit on my bench
And look down on your face,
Wondering about the girl under my arms.
When pressed the doll said,
“I love you. I love you with all my heart.”

poetry-magazinePark Bench

Park Bench