Ken's Portrait
All paintings Copyright © 2004 - Carol Lem
All rights reserved
Now That You Are
How do I write about you, now that you are
Even then you were a shadow and grief exhausted me.
How do I play these variations of a theme
One by one I empty the closets of longing.
And now, reading a book and reflecting on the movements
3/30/01
drifting along the keys of Rachmaninov's "Intermezzo"
or shifting like spring clouds above the blossoming
peach tree? Planting it twenty years ago, I wrote
Is it you crossing the lawn towards me with a red rose?
I felt your arm resting on my shoulder as I dug the cold earth
hearing you say, will I see the first one fall?
Night after night I'd slow down the world
with these adagios to you. As if to say death would not
end us, that small spiral notebook embraced the words
while my listening hand held you in place.
And your Pelikan pen anchored me to a dark harbor
where I could see the boat you didn't want to leave on
pull away. But never out of sight.
now that you are a misty wave on the horizon?
Or the smell of aftershave on another man's face?
When the hollow arms of your jacket could no longer
hold me I let it go.
But this movement playing in the background
brings back a summer evening by the rose bush.
Filling the moat with water, you talked about the future
as though it were a concerto for one hand.
You wrote the notes and told me how to play them.
of my own life, I come upon the words
of a conductor instructing the volunteer orchestra
in Tokyo, Japan: Don't play it like it's love.
It's a memory of love.
