Poem for today, not yet edited

as of yet untitled

for j.

where the river becomes lake
a bridge makes my heart
wider than the span
of all my desires.

wider than fire.

the water has no need
to be extinguished.
it flows and rolls,
tossing trout, spreading
algae to its shores.

boats pass and the water
is still water.

soon after, the lake is
river again.

the bridge passes over,
now passed under.

waves pounding,
open to the sky.

miriam hall
8/27/06

"Computers have taken over, but they're man-made..."

"We're torn between the new ways of the present, between the old ways of the past. What will be the ways of the future? How long will the new world last?"
- both from "Torn", by Abstract Rude & A.T.U.

Here I am, marking my return through the computer. A month of silence, a week of writing, four weeks of travel, culminating in time in front of the computer. I am here because I am transcribing the novel (as my friend Becky just said on the phone to me "Wait. Did I just hear you say the word "my" before the word "novel"?!) I began in Taos while studying with Natalie. That's right. This poet, never having even attempted a short story before, is suddenly writing a novel. It is semi-autobiographical in a funny way, which is to say that it is about each of the generations of my family before I was born. They are, conveniently, all dead - convenient in that in this way I have lots of room for fictating (new word, I imagine) about them, though the stories that do exist (and even those may be fiction, I accept) in the remaining family are torrid enough. When I told J. last month that I was beginning a novel ostensibly about my family, he noted that I will likely learn the most about myself through the process as anything else. This has proved very true so far, as most of the interjections and projections that fill in gaps between the stories I know and the stories I imagine are composed of me, by me, for me.

It has been a very, very powerful time this summer. I have been back 48 hours and I feel both drastically changed and utterly normal. Firstly, not going to work each day at Rainbow is an obvious shift, and one I am still adapting to with rapidity. Tomorrow I go in to begin part time work at the Overture Center so I can pay the bills while teaching practice gets launched. I don't look forward to the air conditioning after a month of living outside in the Rockies, but living outside for a month in the Rockies didn't pay the bills (nor likely will the novel that partially came of it, ; ).

I feel gentler and more open, to myself and others. I feel sharp and clear. I feel at home, a place I missed much, with people I am just starting to catch up to - some coming home still from their own adventures (hallo birdfarm!). So much remains to be seen, and my eyes are wide open - at the computer, on the lake, in the middle of East Washington Ave watching the sunset and dodging cars.

And I missed you all. I welcome myself back to my world, and you back to me. Phones and email are open, come on in!