Hurricane watch: A Lovely Walk in the Rain / Poem: The Man in the Distance

I walked in my shorts, sandals, and sweat shirt with hood. Gotta exercise that new back of mine.

Click here to track Irene, from the NY Times.

She's moving slow. In Virginia now.

Just talked to Sarah. Since Ethan's in Europe, she's staying with Lisa of Mini-Cooper fame. First she went to Julie's apartment to cover her piano in case the ceiling leaks. She's a newly retired Mark Morris dancer.


Puddles are starting to form. When I walked earlier today I looked at all the drains in the neighborhood, all covered with dead leaves.

Neighbor Patrick was outside with his son Little Pat. He showed me where the rain would rush unstoppably from a high hill in his neighbor's backyard.

Then we walked over to the corner and I said, Shouldn't there be a drain here?

Me, a girl, thinking about drains. As I've said before, I wanted to be a doctor when I grew up but I couldn't do chemistry or math.

"You'd make a fine doctor, Ruth," said white-haired fifth grade teacher Mrs. Evelyn Hess. Scroll down for photo of Mercer Elementary School!

Anyway, I told Patrick I was working on a poem about him called "The Man in the Distance."

He crumpled over with laffter.

So I was determined to finish it.

I was exhausted and was gonna nap, but I tricked myself and finished the poem instead!

My orange hazard cone stored here for safekeeping, thank you Mr Scott!

First casualty of the storm: a dead tree branch falls down. I went outside in the rain and deposited it in the little woods behind my house.

Scott was outside. "You missed it," he said. "The fox was sheltering himself under the [un-enclosed] back porch.

We hadn't seen him in a long time and thought he was dead. Lemme tell you something. Sometimes the noises in the little woods are amazing at night. Animal fights and killings.

THE MAN IN THE DISTANCE

I know him well
the man in the blue house on the corner
out on the lawn with the kids
baby acorns raining on the sidewalk
drives a couple of cars
never waves
never stops
a man of purpose
the man in the distance.

Sunshine licks the bricks
on the front porch
I’ve stood there
by the Federalist door
awaiting entry

Played on the floor
with Ian and Little Pat
helped Sue carry in
the apples and wienie buns
but the man in the distance
the father of booming voice and
Irish eyes
eludes me now.

I’m a prisoner of my living room
crippled, though not old,
can no longer mount the high hill
that takes me to their door
can no longer see the Irish "Kiernan" crest
though she is half-Chinese,
a mathematician.

Here on my white couch
my wheelchair, cane, and walker,
though I refuse them all,
I close my eyes, stir my tea,
and let myself in.