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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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A Meditation

 

 

Just out of reach, hard somehow

to grasp: a nub of thread

at the needle’s eye; a cliff top root

as you fall; somebody’s hand  

when the train pulls out; a wrist

breaching the waves—or a name

plump on your tongue,

 

unlike the hint of a thought, a whisper,

a cluster of half-heard words

flocking to sidle your emptying mind,

the kind you know to watch then let go,

slight as the hem of a chiffon scarf

 

maybe depicting a Paris scene, sketched  

in fifties style, the sort that proposes

Eurostar, a day return for coq au vin

in Brasserie Flo’s mosaic and brass—

a sun-washed cruise by bateau mouche,  

a night at Hotel Moderne, the touchstone grave    

of Marcel Proust—to the east in Père Lachaise

—then walk the Seine from the Pont National

west to the Bois de Boulogne, to Indigo Camping,

your motorhome, the Vallée du Rhône, Crete—

 

the small warmth of your exiting breath.

 

—Jenny Hockey