This time we are getting drunk on retsina
in somebody’s Italian backyard. We are a long way
and all of us are lonely. I wave my arms
and caw like Hadrian after his lover drowned himself.
My wife walks by the pond singing a hymn;
I think she is leaving me for good. I say, Imagine
my heart is huge and has
walking around inside. They don’t know each other
but they’re stuck there eternally
and have to get along. One of them starts shouting;
he finds a black horse and rides it around in a circle.
The others laugh at him. He leaps from the horse and
starts to choke the smallest man. Something like a hand
starts pumping the heart
and the men nearly go crazy from the pressure.
—The first olive I picked from a tree
was so bitter I nearly threw up. My wife is strolling
around this strange landscape full of broken pediments
as if she plans to be happy from now on. I think
I have to tense it up, act like I’m in control.
I don’t think I can do that. In a few hours the sun will
rise over my brother’s backyard in south Georgia.
He’ll come out and admire the water jewels
the night has hung in the kumquat bush. He’ll hear his son say,
it’s too big for me to wear,’ and remember quitting the baseball team
thirty years ago
and wish again he hadn’t.
—I get up and march down to the pond. I start to speak
to my wife
but then I feel a hand
that is about to crush my heart.