I Come Home

Bloom on Laundry Day

Bloom on Laundry Day

30 May 2013
11:43 am
Edinburgh

T. —

Two more days of mornings, and then we’ll switch again. I think switching each month makes these letters really interesting. We get different parts of each other’s days, lives, minds. Bloom was all curled up on the bed, sleeping, when I came to bring the laundry in. I tried to get her to close her eyes again, but she was staring, fixated. It reminds me of what I’m like in the evenings: I. Must. Keep. My. Eyes. Open. Reading. Reading. Read….

Last night, it was Buddhism Plain and Simple by Steve Hagen and Mr g by Alan Lightman (author of Einstein’s Dreams – one of my favorite books ever. Have you read it? I dreamt about it the other day.) I could feel myself drifting. It was a struggle to even keep my eyes open. That’s when sleep comes sweetest: when it is earned, fought against, succumbed to.

*

I came home last night in a wave of gratitude and love, feeling fully engaged by my life. I love coming home that way, like a person straight out of the  Stephen Dunn poem:

I Come Home Wanting to Touch Everyone
Stephen Dunn

The dogs greet me, I descend
into their world of fur and tongues
and then my wife and I embrace
as if we’d just closed the door
in a motel, our two girls slip in
between us and we’re all saying
each other’s names and the dogs
Buster and Sundown are on their hind legs,
people-style, seeking more love.
I’ve come home wanting to touch
everyone, everything; usually I turn
the key and they’re all lost
in food or homework, even the dogs
are preoccupied with themselves,
I desire only to ease
back in, the mail, a drink,
but tonight the body-hungers have sent out
their long-range signals
or love itself has risen
from its squalor of neglect.
Everytime the kids turn their backs
I touch my wife’s breasts
and when she checks the dinner
the unfriendly cat on the dishwasher
wants to rub heads, starts to speak
with his little motor and violin—
everything, everyone is intelligible
in the language of touch,
and we sit down to dinner inarticulate
as blood, all difficulties postponed
because the weather is so good.

*

I have to admit though, as much as I love you A, I came home wanting to touch so many more people, things, animals. I wish our house could be filled. I wish I had neighbors I loved, I wish we could knock on doors, join bodies out in the night, sit and chat and dream and explore. I wish you lived next-door too, T. A woman I knew told me once about the perfect place she would like to live: on a peaceful street with beautiful houses; a street whose occupants all chose to create a small community, who cared about each other, who exchanged thoughts and food and ideas and support. She told me all about this community she wanted, but didn’t forget herself: I will love this street, she said, and I will love even more that I can choose to join it whenever I want, and that I can be by myself in my house whenever I need to be. It would be a perfect life.

I love that.

M

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s