“Lately” by Charles Cobean

Lately

Lately, I’ve been showing up at reunions
not my own and somehow know everyone.

By that I mean I know no one
and remember no one’s name.

Meaning I suspect these new friends are just
my old friends in hastily-assembled frames.

Meaning their new throats gargle with old words,
and the familiar radiance of their voices opens in the air

in front of me like butterflies, as if time and distance
had not stretched between us like a hedge.

This makes me wonder if all-time is one-time, an ocean,
and I am standing in it up to my waist.

And if I am awake in dreams, do I ever wake from them,
or do they simply at some point close into darkness.

And who anyway is responsible but one’s own impenetrable soul
and not God for the content of his dreams.

Lately, I’ve been thinking of aging in terms of exile.
Is this happening to you like it’s happening to me?

Like when your children grow and are gone
and you finally run out of parents.

And the sound of footsteps is the sound of leaving
not coming, and grief swims close, just below the ice.

Which brings me to this: I am trying hard to remember
when love was still good and tasted like cinnamon.

I am trying to remember when skin was fragrant
and baby-soft, and I hated to leave it.

My love, I closed my eyes when we kissed
and missed the chance to memorize yours

close-up, and, lately, when I think of you,
your eyes are all the wrong color.

This is also what I mean by exile.
Or is this me thinking only of myself again?

Photo Credit: Staff