The Cure for Anything

Ask her if she regrets anything.

I was
promised to another—
I lived with someone.
You forget these things when you’re touched.

Ask her how he touched her.

His gaze touched me
before his hands touched me.

Ask her how he touched her.

I didn’t ask for anything;
everything was given.

Ask her what she remembers.

We were hauled into the underworld.

I thought
we were not responsible
any more than we were responsible
for being alive. I was
a young girl, rarely subject to censure;

then a pariah. Did I change that much
from one day to the next?
If I didn’t change, wasn’t my action
in the character of that young girl?

Ask her what she remembers.

I noticed nothing. I noticed
I was trembling.

Ask her if the fire hurts.

I remember
we were together.
And gradually I understood
that though neither of us ever moved
we were not together but profoundly separate.

Ask her if the fire hurts.

You expect to live forever with your husband
in fire more durable than the world.
I suppose this wish was granted,
where we are now being both
fire and eternity.

Do you regret your life?

Even before I was touched, I belonged to you;
you had only to look at me.

-Louise Gluck

 

This has to be of the loveliest evenings we’ve had in some weeks. A nice breeze and lower humidity. I did a quick 10 mile ride after work this evening, and it felt great. Light traffic on the trail and a good mix of sun and shade. When I got home, I turned on some music (Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors),opened all the windows to let in fresh air, poured myself a glass of white Bordeaux, and whipped up a delicious frittata with fresh mint, lemon zest, artichokes, and peas. Now I’m relaxing on the patio, enjoying the long hours of sunlight, the soft breeze, and entertaining the thoughts of ice cream for dessert. I do love the stuff. I grew up acting a bowl of ice cream every night before bed, at least in the summertime.