July 10, 2008 at 3:24 pm 1 comment

late in the afternoon, evening’s
drear threat approaching,
she often cries:  unsure
exactly why, but crying…
at times she dreams vaguely
of freedom, as the colors
luminesce:  she has known
only safety and confinement.
she is perhaps at near-40
practically a child; and knows this,
as vaguely:  but there was never
any pausing-place, the way
was never marked.
she has had only dull routines
(and the clumsy fumbling
at her body–she’s heard of orgasm)
with the occasional
voyages into bright ‘reality:’
shows and night clubs
and the tv’s shiny plastic dreams…
ah, but even if she were free
who would lend point:
what goal journeyed toward–
what promised land to reach?
late in the afternoon, grey
evening approaching (the smell
of steak in dingy passageways)
she often cries, gently and hopelessly.
Glenn–this dates from early in the Rogue Valley, so probably around August of 1978.  I’d assume from a couple of mentions and the bow to T. S. Eliot that it would have been just after first started talking for Harry and David (, which has gourmet foods, rather high prices, and customer service as good as the people who man the phones can provide).

Entry filed under: poetry. Tags: , .

More on Chronic Pain… More on Global Warming…

1 Comment Add your own

  • 1. oregonnerd  |  July 10, 2008 at 3:31 pm

    This won’t keep formatting at all. For whatever reason. I will probably try going back to it.


Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Trackback this post  |  Subscribe to the comments via RSS Feed

%d bloggers like this: