I know a woman
-Paul Simon “Slip Slidin’ Away”
Became a wife
These are the very words she uses
To describe her life
She said a good day
Ain’t got no rain
She said a bad day’s when I lie in bed
And think of things that might have been
These are the things that seldom get said out loud – the dreams deferred or partially forgotten, the weight of being the one less in love or the anxiety of being the one eager to give it all away and maybe not having it returned, the contemplations of what could have been – perhaps at the expense of what is.
I started writing this yesterday. The lyrics had lingered from the night before. They put me in one of those moods – wondering if anyone is ever truly happy, truly in balance – and if so, how often or for how long? Heavy thoughts for a quiet morning.
Today I read a line in a poem, “I’m told they don’t remember where they put things, that it’s an activity of incessant discovery—” The author, Robert Hass, was talking about squirrels. I used it as a jumping off point for my own poem about that type of delight – which I imagine is like an infant giggling at peek-a-boo. I thought about how object permanence gives rise to its opposite – impermanence, memory, loss, and change. I imagined that one squirrel – the one cursed with knowing that something’s missing, the one who contemplates the shadows cast by the long light of late afternoon.
While that all sounds pretty dour and depressing, it felt good to be writing these past few days. Feeling good about where I was with the poem, I took a break and walked over to the kitchen to rinse out my coffee mug. Right outside the window, sitting on the deck railing was a bluebird – not a jay, but an actual bluebird. I don’t see them often, and much like when I see goldfinches or cardinals, I get a little pop of joy and wonder at seeing their brazen color. A squirrel surprised by the nut he doesn’t remember burying.
The bird on the deck felt a little like a sign, a gentle reminder to see the world with fascination and astonishment. That was the part of the poem I couldn’t get right – trying to imagine a world in which everything is new all the time. Something about that feels exhausting and yet wonderfully simple. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around a world in which you see fireworks everyday and it’s always as if you’re seeing them for the first time. To want to experience the world as a child feels naive and borderline irresponsible. And to some degree, I wouldn’t want to lose the warm comfort of the familiar and the deep level of satisfaction one gets through re-discovery and memory and even things like longing. Simplicity and complexity… temporary permanence… the rich and full feeling of the bittersweet.
You know the nearer your destination
The more you’re slip slidin’ away