Breathtaking
Nov. 13th, 2005 03:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greenstormThe Hour and What Is Dead
by Li-Young Lee
Tonight my brother, in heavy boots, is walking
through bare rooms over my head,
opening and closing doors.
What could he be looking for in an empty house?
What could he possibly need there in heaven?
Does he remember his earth, his birthplace set to torches?
His love for me feels like spilled water
running back to its vessel.
At this hour, what is dead is restless
and what is living is burning.
Someone tell him he should sleep now.
My father keeps a light on by our bed
and readies for our journey.
He mends ten holes in the knees
of five pairs of boy's pants.
His love for me is like sewing:
various colors and too much thread,
the stiching uneven. But the needle pierces
clean through with each stroke of his hand.
At this hour, what is dead is worried
and what is living is fugitive.
Someone tell him he should sleep now.
God, that old furnace, keeps talking
with his mouth of teeth,
a beard stained at feasts, and his breath
of gasoline, airplane, human ash.
His love for me feels like fire,
feels like doves, feels like river-water.
At this hour, what is dead is helpless, kind
and helpless. While the lord lives.
Someone tell the Lord to leave me alone.
I've had enough of his love
that feels like burning and flight and running away.
I should do the real yesterday update instead of the cryptic one.
Yesterday I walked to Tillie's place on the drive, and then headed out with her and some friends to Sin City (the fetish night, not the movie). We stood in line for the requisite hour, I in my coat, my scarf, and her fairy skirt. I wasn't cold, thanks to the walk to her place, and there was lots of great company in the line. We got in and danced, I topped her for awhile, and I danced more. I left some spectacular marks-- ask her about them. ;)
I had a really great time. I got to show off for Graham a bit, watch him examining Impliments of Doom, dance with some neat people, recieve a comment on my smell (?), get dehydrated, catch the last night bus home, and generally enjoy myself. Tillie and Crazychris, spacey from sleep dep and dancy/beaty sort of chemicals, had an entertaining conversation on the bus home. I got to sleep around 4an finally, woke at about 9, and cut kayak strips for awhile. Now I'm here.
It's nice to know that I'm in good enough physical shape to do the walk, then to dance in steel-toed, steel-shanked army boots all night. I was worried that, with the change of work, I'd be doing less physical stuff and just wouldn't be able to keep up. It's nice that I didn't get blisters wearing someone else's boots to dance in for hours. There are lots of other nice things too, but we'll leave those for another time.
Now I must eat. Be well.
by Li-Young Lee
Tonight my brother, in heavy boots, is walking
through bare rooms over my head,
opening and closing doors.
What could he be looking for in an empty house?
What could he possibly need there in heaven?
Does he remember his earth, his birthplace set to torches?
His love for me feels like spilled water
running back to its vessel.
At this hour, what is dead is restless
and what is living is burning.
Someone tell him he should sleep now.
My father keeps a light on by our bed
and readies for our journey.
He mends ten holes in the knees
of five pairs of boy's pants.
His love for me is like sewing:
various colors and too much thread,
the stiching uneven. But the needle pierces
clean through with each stroke of his hand.
At this hour, what is dead is worried
and what is living is fugitive.
Someone tell him he should sleep now.
God, that old furnace, keeps talking
with his mouth of teeth,
a beard stained at feasts, and his breath
of gasoline, airplane, human ash.
His love for me feels like fire,
feels like doves, feels like river-water.
At this hour, what is dead is helpless, kind
and helpless. While the lord lives.
Someone tell the Lord to leave me alone.
I've had enough of his love
that feels like burning and flight and running away.
I should do the real yesterday update instead of the cryptic one.
Yesterday I walked to Tillie's place on the drive, and then headed out with her and some friends to Sin City (the fetish night, not the movie). We stood in line for the requisite hour, I in my coat, my scarf, and her fairy skirt. I wasn't cold, thanks to the walk to her place, and there was lots of great company in the line. We got in and danced, I topped her for awhile, and I danced more. I left some spectacular marks-- ask her about them. ;)
I had a really great time. I got to show off for Graham a bit, watch him examining Impliments of Doom, dance with some neat people, recieve a comment on my smell (?), get dehydrated, catch the last night bus home, and generally enjoy myself. Tillie and Crazychris, spacey from sleep dep and dancy/beaty sort of chemicals, had an entertaining conversation on the bus home. I got to sleep around 4an finally, woke at about 9, and cut kayak strips for awhile. Now I'm here.
It's nice to know that I'm in good enough physical shape to do the walk, then to dance in steel-toed, steel-shanked army boots all night. I was worried that, with the change of work, I'd be doing less physical stuff and just wouldn't be able to keep up. It's nice that I didn't get blisters wearing someone else's boots to dance in for hours. There are lots of other nice things too, but we'll leave those for another time.
Now I must eat. Be well.
