"Evanescence", by Stephen Dunn

[whiskerslily.livejournal.com]

 

The silhouette of a mountain. Above it a dark halo of rain. Dusk’s light fading, holding on. He thinks he’s seen some visible trace of some absent thing. Knows he won’t talk about it, can’t. He arrives home to the small winter pleasures of a clothing tree, a hatrack, his heroine in a housedress saying hello. He could be anyone aware of an almost, not necessarily sad. He could be a brute suddenly chastened by the physical world. They talk about the storm in the mountains destined for the valley, the béarnaise sauce and the fine cut of beef it improves. The commonplace and its contingencies, his half-filled cup, the monstrous domesticated by the six o’clock news— these are his endurances, in fact his privileges, if he has any sense. Later while they make love, he thinks of Mantle’s long home run in the ’57 Series. He falls to sleep searching for a word. -"Evanescence", by Stephen Dunn   This poem reminds me of Dan, post-Karnak. He and Laurie end up quite shell-shocked and broken, but they somehow manage to keep living anyway.