IN THE DESERT

     In memoriam

        Emily Desire Gaynor Rothman
        September 9, 1964—October 14, 2020

Zephiro torna, e ‘l bel tempo rimena,
E i fiori et le erbe, sua dolce famiglia,
Et garrir Progne et pianger Philomena,
Et primavera candida et vermiglia.
Ridono i prati, e ‘l ciel si rasserena;
Giove s’allegra di mirar sua figlia;
L’aria et l’acqua et la terra è d’amor piena;
Ogni animal d’amar si riconsiglia.
Ma per me, lasso, tornano i più gravi
Sospiri, che del cor profondo tragge
Quella ch’al ciel se ne portò le chiavi;
Et cantar augelletti, et fiorir piagge,
E ‘n belle donne honeste atti soavi
Sono un deserto, et fere aspre et selvagge.

                                            --Petrarch, Rima 310

The soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings
With green hath clad the hill and eke the vale;
The nightingale with feathers new she sings;
And turtle to her make hath told her tale.
Summer is come, for every spray now springs;
The hart hath hung his old head on the pale;
The buck in brake his winter coat he flings;
The fishes flete with new repairèd scale;
The adder all her slough away she slings;
The swift swallow pursueth the flies small;
The busy bee her honey now she mings;
Winter is worn that was the flowers’ bale.
And thus I see among these pleasant things
Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs.

                                          --Surrey

Zephyrus turns and brings good weather back,
And flowers and grass, his gentle family,
Philomela, weeping of her attack,
White and vermilion spring, chatty Procne.
The meadows laugh, the sky’s no longer black,
And Jove delights, for at last he can see
His daughter; air and earth and water lack
For nothing, filled with love, and every bee
And bird remembers love. And I would, but
This spring the only thing I’ve done is sighed.
My heart, that once was open, is now shut.
She took its keys to heaven when she died.
Birds sing, fields flower, women laugh…for what?
Spring’s now a wilderness where cruel beasts hide.

The season when buds bloom and each bird sings
Has draped the valleys and the hills with green.
The hummingbirds return on shimmering wings,
My plump cats go outdoors, grow sleek and lean.
And summer comes, bees buzz, the grape vine clings
A little higher, nursing foxes wean
Their pups, trout jump for flies, cool evening brings
The amorous croaks of frogs, rattlers get mean
And quick on their warm rocks, the puffball flings
Its spores to heaven, dogs fetch sticks. I’ve seen
All this, the gentle showers and rainbow rings.
I used to love it. Now it seems obscene.
I’ve learned the truth: Don’t love these lovely things.
They all will die. Only endless sorrow springs.

Yet spring returns. The grass turns green, the flowers,
Whose names she knew, blossom. The hummingbirds,
Hawks, bluebirds, swallows, rainbows, thundershowers,
Clear dawns, headwater streams and great elk herds
Take up where they left off. When time was ours,
And not merely some insubstantial words,
She walked these meadows, climbed peaks and spent hours
Of joy and love right here. And now absurd is
What it all is, what birth is like this year,
An empty ritual, fierce, brutal, wild.
What is the fucking point? For when I hear
Swallows and thunder now, they seem defiled
By her gray ashes, which I scattered here
In this high meadow, weeping like a child.
Enough. Enough. What selfishness. Forgive
Me, I just had to see if I could do it.
I had to see if I could learn to live
If I went down to bedrock and broke through it.
I had to plumb the depths. I had to know.
I had to look directly at the void.
I had to see what emptiness could show,
To learn what life is when life is destroyed.
I did. And now: Come, spring. Oh, precious vessel,
Ark of seeds brought from the first flowers’ tombs,
It is your law that makes carpet phlox nestle,
Fills valleys with balsamroot super-blooms.
Joy filled her at the first bluebird of spring.
Even the thorns of life are blossoming.

Emily, last week I drove back to
CB, and all the way from Price down through
Green River to Grand Junction there were new
Flowers I’d never seen before, a blue,
Red, yellow and green web. What snow can do!
This spring is like a miracle that grew
To prove itself. I stopped. A warm breeze blew
Soft-petaled tufted evening primrose, dune
Wallflower, heliotrope phaelia, two
Varieties of globe mallow: a true,
Wild, patient seedtime now at last come due.
The promised land, recall, was mostly sand.
If spiny-stars can flower, I can too.
My love, the desert bloomed. I thought of you.

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UNREQUITED

These
Rich
Seas
Pitch,
Give,
Move,
Live,
Love—
But
Land,
Cut
And
Dried,
Denies.

ONE ANT

Look at him wandering, antennae swaying,
Across the tile floor of my dirty kitchen,
Vagabond. It doesn’t look like praying,
Although he marches, pauses, circles, which, in
Our own world we might call purpose, lapse,
Return, bewilderment, loss, faith, perplexity.
Though who knows what an ant feels as he maps
Some odd new place. Who knows? Is it an exit he
Is looking for? A crumb? Well, here we are,
The ant and I, trying to figure this
Mess out, this situation in which we’re
Alone together in our loneliness.
O ant, where is your nest? Canyons of grout
Beckon. You got in. There must be some way out.

BOY WITH ROCK

The little boy whose name I'll never know
Pushed open with great effort the glass door
To the courtyard. He knew where to go
To get the rock he’d obviously come for.
No other rock would do. He’d made his mind
Up well before that this rock was the right
Rock and in choosing it, all things combined.
Then, pulling on the door, he held it tight.
But this was hard. So he had to stop,
Put down the rock and double-hand the door,
Wrestling it open, move his foot to prop
It there and grab his perfect rock once more.
Then, with his rock, he left and silence fell.
The boy is gone. The rock is gone. And all is well.

SOME OF JACOB'S QUESTIONS,
                     SOME OF NOAH'S ANSWERS

                        1.

“Why do people have two eyes?”
      One sees the truth, the other, lies.
      One crawls on the ground, one flies.
      One laughs, the other says goodbyes.

“Why do people need to have faces?”
      So the blind can claim to see,
      In such gross traces,
      The others’ places.

“Why are cats small?”
      Well, why are there any cats at all?

“What do weird people do?”
      They do whatever they want to do.
      They act like me, they act like you.
      Some are concerned with what is true.

“Do clowns turn other people into clowns?”
      They do indeed. Sometimes clowns –
      Very great clowns – can turn entire towns
      And even countries, into clowns.

“Do golfers play hockey?”
      Only if stocky.

“How long is a big book?”
      Long enough to be mistook.
      Though not a single one of those books
      Is as big as its author thinks it looks.

“How do you sleep under the stars?”
      First, you visit all the bars.

“Is French like jazz?”
      No. The French have an Academy
      That worries if things get too free.
      So while they claim they like to play
      You must be careful what you say.

“Why do flowers grow from tiny seeds?”
      Because something should compete with weeds.

“Have you ever seen a dog laugh?”
      Yes, once, almost…but he only did half.

“Where does the moon belong?”
      Wherever it happens to be –
      Just, please – not in a song.

“What is spring all about?”
      Doubt and the end of doubt.

“Can you inherit scars?”
      Oh, my son, no –
      You will fight your own wars.

                        2.

Why is a house?
      “Because people live inside of it.”

How many?
      “Zero.”

Why not?
      “Why not do you have your shoes on?”

When is a cloud?
      “Because it’s high in the sky.”

If this, then why that?
      “What did you say?”

Is a lamp?
      “It has light in it.”

Where is the bottom?
      “Erase that one, I don’t like that one.”

Where is the top?
      “Inside of the drawer.”

How much is enough?
      “One hundred.”

When is a cow?
      “A cow eats grass.”

Why does water?
      “You can drink it out of a cup –

Now write ‘The end.’”

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