{"id":14754,"date":"2023-06-12T09:58:57","date_gmt":"2023-06-12T07:58:57","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=14754"},"modified":"2023-06-12T09:58:57","modified_gmt":"2023-06-12T07:58:57","slug":"poems-by-john-grey-8","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/?p=14754","title":{"rendered":"poems by John Grey"},"content":{"rendered":"

Top of the world<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

We\u2019re flying over snow-buried land,<\/p>\n

flat and tree-less.<\/p>\n

This desolation is the quickest route<\/p>\n

between two places where people live.<\/p>\n

At one end, a bustling town,<\/p>\n

at the other, a burgeoning city.<\/p>\n

But I\u2019m learning what separates them:<\/p>\n

a wilderness masquerading as a calm.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

If it weren\u2019t for the clear sky,<\/p>\n

the landscape would never know what season it is.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s supposed to be summer.<\/p>\n

But that season\u2019s buried somewhere deep below.<\/p>\n

Only the light tells otherwise,<\/p>\n

twenty-four hours of it<\/p>\n

in all directions.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

No people.<\/p>\n

No animals.<\/p>\n

We\u2019re all that\u2019s living.<\/p>\n

We bear the responsibility<\/p>\n

and move on.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Six months after the miscarriage<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

A gray and cold afternoon,<\/p>\n

and you sit cross-legged on the bedroom floor,<\/p>\n

still in your dressing gown,<\/p>\n

rocking an imaginary child in your arms.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

You whisper \u201cquiet\u201d in<\/p>\n

your husband\u2019s direction,<\/p>\n

and he obeys.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere, there,\u201d you say softly.<\/p>\n

\u201cGo to sleep. He won\u2019t hurt you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The baby sleeps but not you.<\/p>\n

Your wakefulness is as persistent<\/p>\n

as the April rain.<\/p>\n

And your hands resist his hands.<\/p>\n

A kiss on your cheek provokes a snake hiss.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

There\u2019s nothing more present in a home<\/p>\n

than what can never be.<\/p>\n

That\u2019s why the bathroom closet\u2019s<\/p>\n

stuffed with diapers,<\/p>\n

and there\u2019s always a bottle<\/p>\n

boiling on the stove.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

You see a psychiatrist<\/p>\n

but you mistake him for a pediatrician.<\/p>\n

He suggests admitting you some place restful.<\/p>\n

You\u2019re concerned that their facilities<\/p>\n

won\u2019t provide for the baby\u2019s needs.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

There\u2019s nothing in your arms.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s nothing for you in the man you married.<\/p>\n

No wonder you insist<\/p>\n

the baby looks so much like his father.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My relationship with cemeteries<\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

This fancy script<\/p>\n

could be a lover\u2019s,<\/p>\n

and the huge mausoleum,<\/p>\n

no doubt a rich man\u2019s<\/p>\n

bragging from the afterlife.<\/p>\n

Here is the grave of a young girl.<\/p>\n

That explains the weather-beaten teddy bear<\/p>\n

pawing at the ground.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The seeds I sprouted from<\/p>\n

is here somewhere.<\/p>\n

I can\u2019t find them however.<\/p>\n

There are lots of angels about<\/p>\n

but none of them point the way.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

So the graves of others will have to do.<\/p>\n

Like these eighteenth-century stones,<\/p>\n

incisions so faint<\/p>\n

they may as well be my forebears.<\/p>\n

Or this odd epitaph,<\/p>\n

\u201cRoar like a lion.\u201d<\/p>\n

Maybe there\u2019s no ape in my backstory.<\/p>\n

Merely, a loud, obnoxious feline.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I am not fascinated by what I see around me.<\/p>\n

Nor am I repulsed.<\/p>\n

Everything is so matter of fact.<\/p>\n

Like death itself<\/p>\n

And humanity\u2019s vast experience<\/p>\n

in getting rid of bodies.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

To be honest,<\/p>\n

I\u2019d rather my descendants<\/p>\n

didn\u2019t waste their time<\/p>\n

seeking out my plot.<\/p>\n

Burial is just mulching<\/p>\n

but with more patience.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

So, if a cremator<\/p>\n

solicits volunteers for burning,<\/p>\n

I\u2019ll raise my hand.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ll leave it up<\/p>\n

until I\u2019m dead.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Looking out<\/strong><\/p>\n

The light lingered, though frayed,
\nbits here and there my eyes tried to piece
\ntogether but eventually, like cake, falling
\napart in my fingers. Dark wants to be solid
\nlike the snow that traps road and sidewalk<\/p>\n

and field equally, that cares as little for human
\ntransport as for growing. I’ve lost the grass,
\nand then went the shine. Just headlights now,
\njagged and jittery, not bothering to show footprints<\/p>\n

or the claw-marks of the plows. Just somber cars
\nmoving slow, almost still, like they have no people
\nin them. Frost moves in for the window, with lamp
\nbehind, breaks down the face in glass. If the
\nmoment wants me, it will have to piece the jigsaw,<\/p>\n

press ear to intermittent cheek, merge chin with mouth,
\nconnect the flurried eyes, then match them with
\na white-washed brow. Can’t be done. Thankfully,
\nsomeone in the next room calls my name. It’s why
\nwe have rooms and not just landscapes<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Top of the world   We\u2019re flying over snow-buried land, flat and tree-less. This desolation is the quickest route between two places where people live.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1644,77],"tags":[1645,1123,1393],"class_list":["post-14754","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-egophobia-76","category-english","tag-egophobia-76","tag-english","tag-john-grey"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6DakB-3PY","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14754","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=14754"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14754\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":14755,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/14754\/revisions\/14755"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=14754"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=14754"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=14754"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}