trestle turn around
humidity: 80%/ dew point: 67
It is supposed to rain for most of the day, starting in the late morning. Decided to run before it started. Hot and thick. Sweaty. Listened to my playlist, starting with my song of the summer: Lorde’s Solar Power. Felt strong. I think all the swimming is strengthening my hips and legs and back. Greeted Dave the Daily Walker twice. Heard the rowers when I stopped briefly at the trestle. Avoided a group of runners near the spot above the Minneapolis Rowing Club. I can’t remember any of my thoughts. Got lost for 30 minutes.
Here’s a great poem that fits better with June’s theme of water and stone, but I’m posting it anyway. It’s from her new collection, out at the end of this month, Goldenrod!
Wife for Scale/ Maggie Smith
This is a tender age––and in geologic time,
hardly an age at all. But a golden band
of rock, pressed paper-thin, will stand
for these years, a kind of scientific
shorthand. Once I had a professor
whose wife was in every photo he took
of rock formations. He’d click through
slide after slide, saying: My wife for scale.
Isn’t there always a woman in the picture
and isn’t she always small in comparison?
Forgive me: that was my grief talking.
Tell me: how do I teach myself to be alone?
The strata for this age will not be the first
to reveal what salt does to stone, as if
a sea had been here and not sadness only.
Tell me: with God a question, where
is solace but in the earth? The soul
I’m standing on in this moment–––
even as it shifts beneath my feet, as it gives
and cannot hold me—will be rock.
Love this poem!