Living in Lines He Carries Nothing
The man you knew is fading,
withdrawing into memory’s
specimen jar. A fatal flower. One
dried scorpion. Another late glass
of pinot. He carries nothing with him
but words. Living in lines on the page,
he listens to the sotol stalks rasping
sad farewells at night, their peace
interrupted by cicadas droning in
the trees. He wants to be seen
before he dies. Thinking hurts, he says.
I depend on pain that won’t vanish
or forget its purpose. I do not want.
“Living in Lines He Carries Nothing” was published in fall 2019 in the print anthology Through Layered Limestone: A Texas Hill Country Anthology of Place. I am grateful to editors d. ellis phelps, Lucy Griffith, Darlene Logan, Donna Peacock and Mobi Warren for taking this and three other pieces.
O at the Edges 
Love “memory’s/specimen jar” along with the rest of this packed poem; I can relate to so much said here with such beautiful economy!
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I have felt that I was living in a specimen jar, at one time or another.
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This stirs up my sense of human-space connection – there are a few places from my much-younger years that I suspect recognize me as I recognize them on the rare visits. A permanent connection even while apart. This also stirs curiosity about pain as valuable – pain that won’t “forget its purpose” – a reminder to listen to my aches for whatever they’re diligently trying to convey (the ouch may be worse than physical?)
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I’m contemplating a quick trip to my rural property, to get it on the market at last. I wonder if it will remember me.
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That simple, yet elusive, wish: to be seen. (K)
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So elusive…
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Kind of romantic in the existential sense… “For if it is rash to walk into a lion’s den unarmed, rash to navigate the Atlantic in a rowing boat, rash to stand on one foot on the top of St Paul’s, it is still more rash to go home alone with a poet” – Virginia Woolf.
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Ha, I am enjoying living with a poet. It is a different existence, fraught with peril. 😄
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Beautifully captured the depth of life, and the mystery and magic of it!
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Thanks very much, Sanjay. Our lives are full of mystery and magic!
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Sure thing! I agree 😊
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A living ode that I can certainly related to Robert .. (far too closely)
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This is probably not uncommon among people our age, Ivor. 🙂
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Hmmm 🤔 yep our age ..
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I’ve been thinking a lot about the fadeout, how we gradually get erased. My father’s slowly heading over the edge, and I keep flashing back to our lives together when he was in his heyday. So many people (and places) have disappeared.
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The longer we’re around, the more disappearances and fade-aways we have to deal with. Some are tougher than others.
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