In the Meantime by Lisa Olstein
Had a bad dream that I can’t remember now. I only know that I was crying, and, awake, couldn’t stop.
In the Meantime
Lisa OlsteinWhat seemed a mystery was
in fact a choice. Insert bird for sorrow.What seemed a memory was in fact
a dividing line. Insert bird for wind.Insert wind for departure when everyone is
standing still. Insert three mountainsburning and in three valleys a signal seer
seeing a distant light and a signal bearersprinting to a far-off bell. What seemed
a promise was in fact a sigh.What seemed a hot wind, a not quite enough,
a forgive me, it has flown away, is in fact.In the meantime we paint the floors
red. We stroke the sound of certain namesinto a fine floss that drifts across our teeth.
We stay in the room we share and listenall night to what drifts through the window—
dog growl, owl call, a fleet of mosquitoessetting sail, and down the road,
the swish of tomorrow’s donkey-threshed grain.