4.19: the shadows of this loneliness gripped loose dirt
Scrivener April 20th, 2008
4.19: the shadows of this loneliness gripped loose dirt, originally uploaded by Scrivenings.
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Saturday At The Canal
I was hoping to be happy by seventeen.
School was a sharp check mark in the roll book,
An obnoxious tuba playing at noon because our team
Was going to win at night. The teachers were
Too close to dying to understand. The hallways
Stank of poor grades and unwashed hair. Thus,
A friend and I sat watching the water on Saturday,
Neither of us talking much, just warming ourselves
By hurling large rocks at the dusty ground
And feeling awful because San Francisco was a postcard
On a bedroom wall. We wanted to go there,
Hitchhike under the last migrating birds
And be with people who knew more than three chords
On a guitar. We didn’t drink or smoke,
But our hair was shoulder length, wild when
The wind picked up and the shadows of
This loneliness gripped loose dirt. By bus or car,
By the sway of train over a long bridge,
We wanted to get out. The years froze
As we sat on the bank. Our eyes followed the water,
White-tipped but dark underneath, racing out of town.
Gary Soto
god, what a gorgeous poem! and what a beautiful photo! i had forgotten about this poem; soto is so amazing at exactly capturing that…i was going to say moment, but it seemed so much longer than a moment while it was happening; it was excruciating long and frustrating. oh, the longing; the deep, deep longing. and yes, i called your backlit curls beautiful; you’ll recover.
i’m laughing as one of those teachers who’s ‘too close to dying’ at the ripe old age of thirty-six. ha!
the light that can be caught in human hair
leaving a comment is hard when your brain is consumed in a rush by the words that you have just read.