The Blue Door

Suzanne I didn't get the chance to thank you

as much as I could have.  You showed me

the strength of our friendship-- 

                                               Oh how you

took over my weakness and ploughed through

the needless monotony of my laundry,

                                        the blues of apartment

hunting (thank goodness not by myself), organzing

my schedule and even taking my calls when you

busily prepared home cooked meals.

                                                         My thoughts

grazed these streets down the chilly January rain

when nothing seems to sprout but only the fog

that became a constant reminder the day was still

rolling by.

               Perhaps the Muni- as dependable as it has

been...came by every10 minutes along my walk.

The birds didn't seem to mind the calling of this morning,

why even when the refrigerator arrived I could not even fill it

but you knew I was above my head, not allowing enything to

enter nor leave my mind. 

                                     How I wish I could have been more

cooperative those two weeks.  I must have been a handful

mess, a sorrow starless nights drowned by delphic dreams.

                     I remember the time when you put that pen in

my hand that rainy afternoon, the blank paper white with shadows

of rain falling on a canvas the ink just dripped with no direction to go.

It was the company of this nature my poetry can speak of,

I know no other

words to conjure

or employ--

                  Only appreciate you.

I sit on these steps, wondering if those neighbors arguing

next door could have sounded the way they did back in

1969, when i was still unborn in your womb, like the thoughts

you had when words were birthed one by one, reminded you of

[that joking voice] which we still encounter beyond  every door.

___________________

Meus Otium:

I wrote this prose poem on an encounter when I visited the house where Elizabeth Bishop lived in San Francisco in 1969 for a year before going back to Brazil.  I had just finished reading part of her biography and was particularly drawn to the character of Suzanne one of her friends from Seattle who came down to help her move.  She became a more than a friend and the feelings of the poem I hope evoked some part of that friendship.

I was also reminded of my own friendship with my best friend Lorraine who has helped me countless of times when I needed more than a morale boost, there are often missed occasion I know I didn't get to thank her...and she continues to be my friend.  This poem is sort of a thank you note...

Giving thanks even as unspoken acts of gratitude are gestures that lasts a lifetime, and I believe crosses through the doors of time.