Edith Cheitman

November 9, 2000

Early November
Sunday
grey
rain insisting on the roof.
No leaves left but the oak
muttering just outside the bedroom window,
tenured scholars giving full brown consideration
to arcane issues.

It’s trite, really.
November,
dead Sunday before a ciphered election,
rain on the roof that, even now,
they know must be shingled next year --
For sure.

One sighs,
One turns;

Subtle odors mingle.

A tacit agreement is reached
to move no farther yet
to take no quick decision on this day.

Insistent rain
muttering leaves;
Breaths synchronize a magic that brings
uneasy temporary order

to this space at least.

And now what shall we do?
Length echoes length in gentle desperation
In the deep language of blood and lymph and sinew.

Slowly the answer weaves itself
however often practiced
always new.

Hand here
tongue there
Signals to begin the deep dance down
to the heart of the only truth there is.

Double dandelion seed
Blows
shingles off the roof
Cancels the election
Paints the oak leaves purple
Fills the room
momentarily
with the simplest of bright truths

Slips seamless back to sleep.
 

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