Haven’t you learned anything? she says

What is it you see out there?  What do you hear?

My woman standing at the window staring out into

the light.  Could be the sun, she says, hand cocked

to one ear. Or maybe the end, she adds, stretching

up on tiptoe. Anxious for any answer I wait, wonder

when she’ll turn to me, what expression on her face,

and tell me the truth of what’s going on out there

on what appeared to be such a fine day for fruit picking,

apples full round red in ripe season.  And they were free,

for the grower hoped to clear the last, and feed those

who were in want as well in this costly world of ours,

grown too large for just the silver coins that do not

jangle large and jingle, sing as brightly as they once did.

Even folding money, as our father used to call it, may be

burning up out there, used to light the big cigars of men

who carry a black charge card.  I’ve never seen one, but

I’ve heard you can buy anything with them, go paint

the town red or white or blue, or any which way you

choose.  Now she steps back from the window, turns

on me crying and manages, I never knew how stunning

it could be, the flaming of weapons waiving there to guard

the air.  So what is it? I ask, not understanding her.

Seriously, haven’t you learned anything? she says, shaking

her head, sad and angry over everything I don’t know yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com 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