Andrew McCarron
Originally published in The Evergreen Review Issue 115 in 2008.
It should’ve happened long ago
But it didn’t. At some point a Metro-North was missed,
And so we said, “We’d leave the following
Morning.” But we wasted the morning feeling off.
There was no time left for touchstones:
The getting up and stepping into love.
There was a hardwood floor and a table
(mahogany), long squares of sun passing
Through, though the intersection of the light,
The floor and the table took us only
Almost onto the threshold of feeling
That the other would be the one who’d come
And say, “The landscape’s awaiting us
Our arrival into the Moonie meadow increasing
Incrementally through the days, and yes
Yes, I’ll watch you as you age beneath the branch.”
But it didn’t. At some point a Metro-North was missed,
And so we said, “We’d leave the following
Morning.” But we wasted the morning feeling off.
There was no time left for touchstones:
The getting up and stepping into love.
There was a hardwood floor and a table
(mahogany), long squares of sun passing
Through, though the intersection of the light,
The floor and the table took us only
Almost onto the threshold of feeling
That the other would be the one who’d come
And say, “The landscape’s awaiting us
Our arrival into the Moonie meadow increasing
Incrementally through the days, and yes
Yes, I’ll watch you as you age beneath the branch.”
