| In that other life, today is my
wedding anniversary. Many years, many “debates,” and many reconciliations stretch across that life. This morning, I pick up a monthly literary book someone subscribed me to. It is a book, not a magazine – 3/4 inches thick – a mix of stories, poems and pictures. Last night, again, I debated renewing at the special price. The giver died, a woman of some stature who gifted me, and now the publication sends a poem and letter that honors her and tastefully offers a one year renewal at a reduced rate to those she had gifted. I opened it, and oddly found myself at the first page (a random act seldom finds the known edge). It begins with a poem by Brian Turner, Gilgamesh, in Fossil Relief. He ends it with: History is a cloudy mirror made
of dirt
and bone and ruin. And Love? Loss? Immortality? These are the questions we must answer again by war and famine and pestilence, and again by touch and kiss, for each age must learn this is the path of the sun’s journey by night. The sun’s journey by night, I ponder that and the woman I met in that cloudy mirror and the woman I have yet to meet here. The woman who comes into this age knowing, by touch and kiss, how to answer the questions before us in the sun’s journey by night. RD Savage
© 12/17/04 |