Ships that pass in the night July 9, 2013


 

A mentioned yesterday, there is more going on in regard to her latest poem than just the content.

Again, we come to the possibility that our posts are somehow some kind of secret communication, wishful thinking on my part, of course, because I know she really hates me.

I suspect I am deluding myself with hopeful thinking that she has maintained this one thin thread of communication between us, though this poem adds increasing evidence to that illusion – since I posted a poem that in some respects foreshadowed the one she posted this week.

My poem included a video of me wandering a small beach in Jersey City near Liberty State Park, and was intended as a response to even earlier poem about borrowed lives.

The poem goes

I find no path among these river stones, so I make my own, turning this way then that, side steps that lead me nowhere, then back, my life made up of clumps like these small eddies filled with seaweed and people I need, but never see again when I move on, each step through this unpredictable maze brings me closer to some destination I cannot see, yet through all these amazing twists and turns, the one true thing always the same is me.

The fact that she used the same geography for her poem may be pure coincidence, though I want to think otherwise.

Although not attached to her poem, she also posted a picture of herself walking along the waterfront, perhaps in response to pictures and video I also posted from the waterfront earlier.

Her poem opens with the frame of her seeking solace from the river that runs through many of my nature poems, but the river for her is more than just a symbol of hope, it also her life, since much of her manipulation over the years has focused on those she claims to have loved, whose hearts she fills and unfills, and then fills again, perhaps their essence to be found up and down this shore line, ships that once sailed in the same direction, but can no longer do so.

Coming to the river, she finds new life from the breezes and ripples in the water that breaking – break having multiple means, such as lucky break or because she follows this up with words like torn bones, a negative broken bones and break down of nerve, and hot raw Nevers.

She comes here when she is full to spilling, and image that suggested when she can take any more emotional baggage, bullshit, suggesting in the terms leak and waste. But also, can’t afford to use up the energy she needs to survive on emotional turmoil.

There is an odd, maybe unintentional sexual imagery with spiling over, leaking and waste – and perhaps I’m reading into this, but there is a sense that she wants something more out of it, if not marriage or babies, then something else. This may well also connect with the series of love poems she has posted since the start of the year, and something she has clearly decided to let go of.

As pointed out in the other journal entry, she refers to the last few years as particularly rough, alluding to life upstream as well as downstream, me as well as those who came before, and possibly since.

She remains strong, but is tired sometimes, and the ships that make this trip up or down (and the metaphor of her life) make her soul ache because she is alone.

She can see a certain face in the water reflected, someone – as I surmised previously – like her, who perhaps might have loved her, but she must let him go.

Again, I suspect many of these poems are connected and this is the man who she wanted months ago, and has since fallen away from, someone who she wants to share her bed and her life but comes infrequently if at all.

A very sad story in the end.



email to Al Sullivan

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