Vol 9, Num 15 :: 2010.07.23 — 2010.09.09
Funny when you think about it
A re-treat, I repeat-
ed, when you told me. You, having grown,
if it’s not out of line to say so, truly etymological
yourself, though sensitive to puns,
beat me to the punch, and forbade me
to ask just what it was we had
to retreat from.
The Victorians called it “the Battle of Life”-
perhaps with better reason. But, then, now,
if anything, it’s more true that life lies
under the manufacture (which is a dead dead
metaphor), between the microchips, and everywhere
from your ankles to your ears. One day I walked uptown
without my headphones-this, too, was a retreat.
And a treat. The walk back was triply
or quadruply pleasant, if my math is right.
A “silent” retreat, we sometimes speak
of, by which we mean the kind where you can hear. Those birds outside,
our hostess clink-tinkling through the silver, someone in flip-
flops flip-flopping on the vinyl floor-Ah, we are surrounded!
And still the hardest thing
is to surrender.
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