The person I once was found himself
In the present, which was the only place he could be.
The dog that yesterday had barked
At his empty dish barked again.
The stars were still shining,
Though the brilliance of the sun obscured them so completely
You’d believe they’d disappeared.
Time to walk to the paddock.
Will the roses be blooming? Will Penny be there, too?
Selfishly we planted cornflowers, delphiniums,
A different bed for every shade.
From behind the wisteria came children, then grandchildren—
The girls wore smocked dresses, dresses my mother
Had made, the boys had floppy hair.
The things we made
Ourselves seemed permanent,
But like the stars invisible, even the things
We made from words. Downstairs
The kitchen, the living room, everything in place:
The bed could fold up in the wall.
But upstairs a ladder where each evening, one by one,
We’d climb into the crow’s nest
To rehearse the stars. Hold the railing! Don’t fall!
How did we afford this house?
Why, if it exists
In the present,
Am I speaking in the past?
 
*****

In Memoriam

With great respect and affection, Poetry Daily remembers the life and work of James Longenbach (1959-2022).We celebrate and recall Jim and hope our readers will enjoy revisiting the work he allowed to appear on these pages:

Essays:
James Longenbach on Sir Thomas Wyatt’s “They Flee From Me”
James Longenbach on William Butler Yeats’ The Tower

Poems:
Barcarolle
Now and Then
In the Village