In February of 2011 I was living a pretty sad, besotted existence. Big surprise there, I know.
I hadn't written, really written, in a few years. Post-baby, post-breakup, post-job loss.
I "met" a girl. On the internet. We talked nightly for about two weeks. We gushed and were icky in fake love. Then one day she stopped calling.
But during one of our first conversations I wrote a poem about Tang and the Space Shuttle Challenger. After that, I wrote a couple dozen more, nearly all occasional poems for particular people.
Last night I attempted to revive that, and wrote a poem for David Wright. He, in turn, wrote one for me. His is here:
David Wright's poem for Anthony Robinson.
He used an actual postcard and is sending it to me via post, like in the olden days.
Here's my poem for him:
For David Wright
Between the backlit woman & the backboard
in the last gym for miles,
past 5773 years of a nothing we painted
an up smudge
of dodge & burn;
past the knowing & not
knowing, the filters of apple & honey;
there is a caustic unraveling, between us, poet of Midwest
Landscape, Polaroid &
me the endpoint of a horizon of errors—
Ours is a marriage of silences. Two trees.
the ranging forest floor, the small tomorrows.