Empty games

Tuesday October 12, 2004

It was a variant on a game we play sometimes:

“You ok up there?” Graham asked.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about us. We all miss you, though.”

“Not as much as I miss you.”

“Bet we miss you even more.”

“Bet you don’t.”

“Bet we do.”

“Oh well. I don’t much feel like playing games just now.”

“No. Neither do I.”

Hey ho. That’s the way of it when the hours stretch out and the quietness grows so thick you could cut it. I sat leafing through books of poetry for a part of the day. One hour was given a bit of a shine by the rediscovery of a favourite by Mark Strand:


Keeping Things Whole
In a field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.
When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body’s been.
We all have reasons
for moving.
I move
to keep things whole.
Mark Strand; from Sleeping with one eye open (1964)



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