22

MEDITATION PREOCCUPIED WITH ITS PLACE IN HISTORY

My fast car
Decides which life I will
Turn on the lights
The heating system settling
Dashboard analog clock
Ticking past a bead of glue –
How will that road look
To me now?

Something has unlocked my feelings
Two questions, does it matter what
Something is, and were your feelings in a safe
Or an ice floe? Either way
It makes me chlorophyll in May,
And as for the other, what if it happened again
That’d be important, to know what broke the spell.

I forget, is Caliban Prospero’s son?
The morning has an inordinate interest
In chanteuses. I see some tufted ones
Passing in front of the stone wall
Damming the other backyard. If the New York
School had vacationed inland – the Berkshires
Or the Poconos, say – or if their summers
Were spent in Mattisquam or Rehoboth,
Wait, I forget, is Ashbery New York School?
Hudson River School? Ecole Normale?

Consulting the I ching many times each day
On the same question. What question?
What question? My sister runs down the steps
With a canvas and a Regents prep book
And unlocks the door. “Good morning,” I say
As she selects footwear. “Good morning,” she says,

Thinking it a little queer for me
To stay without her nephew here.