And I
Say
And she asks me,
falling asleep in my arms,
“Where will we be
when both of us die?”
And I say, “We’ll
find each other and be together
somehow.” And of
course she says that makes no sense.
And I say, “Neither
does any major religion.”
And this goes on a
while, as it has for the ages.
***
Alan Watts said,
“Belief is clinging. Faith is letting go.”
I am somewhere in the
middle now, clinging to her,
letting go of the
fear of losing her
on this small and
sometimes choiceless world.
And I say, to myself
I guess, I never want to give this up.
I want to wake next
to her every morning.
And this goes on a
while, as it has for the ages.
Harry Calhoun
has had work published in various poetry journals over the past 30 years. His
books and chapbooks include I knew
Bukowski like you knew a rare leaf, The Black Dog and the Road, and Retreating Aggressively into the Dark.
Recently, he has had two Pushcart nominations, a Sundress Best of the Net
nomination and publications in Chiron
Review, Abbey, Orange Room Review,
Gutter Eloquence, Lily and others. 2012
has seen the limited-edition chapbook Maintenance and Death
and the collection of poems from the ‘80s and ’90s called Retro from Propaganda Press.
