Saturday, December 22, 2012

habit of memory propels to the ground of his making

Bathing beauties? Opossum Bay, South Arm Peninsula. December 2012.

The weather forecast holds mixed fortunes for our planned Christmas brunch right here on Opossum Bay beach. Fingers crossed.

Here, have one of my favourite poems...

After Making Love We Hear Footsteps, Galway Kinnell

For I can snore like a bullhorn
or play loud music
or sit up talking with any reasonably sober Irishman
and Fergus will only sink deeper
into his dreamless sleep, which goes by all in one flash,
but let there be that heavy breathing
or a stifled come-cry anywhere in the house
and he will wrench himself awake
and make for it on the run—as now, we lie together,
after making love, quiet, touching along the length of our bodies,
familiar touch of the long-married,
and he appears—in his baseball pajamas, it happens,
the neck opening so small he has to screw them on—
and flops down between us and hugs us and snuggles himself to sleep,
his face gleaming with satisfaction at being this very child.

In the half darkness we look at each other
and smile
and touch arms across this little, startlingly muscled body—
this one whom habit of memory propels to the ground of his making,
sleeper only the mortal sounds can sing awake,
this blessing love gives again into our arms.


Stefan Jansson said...

I'm a bit jealous about your weather. This looks wonderful.

Kris McCracken said...

Stefan, it has been great season.