Song for a Seeker by Rebecca Henry Lowndes This is a memory: how, when I'd left off seeking, eschewed involvement, disparaged adventure, one wet unheralded Friday I descried intact a trove, a lode untapped, of mettlesome rare cut, who bestowed on me a random smile, a guileless gift of candy and the thoughtless stray remark that set upon my cheek a veil; then, as though a slackened string somewhere went snap, pulled taut and singing, one hot and wary look we shared, for here it was, the fretted Grail no toll could ransom out of time: a tandem soul. How glad I'd been, that year, to be alone! But now his soft indulgent eyes, his measured words me everywhere did stalk, and brought me down: the proud and seasoned hunter snared, undone! (Sweet consternation) How, pale in my deep green robe, I flew the stairs to let him in a stranger, nearly one unnerved, heart-plundered so, as to declare me fetching! And how, within my sunny garret, kindle-snug and shrine-remote, we talked, refined this mined, this treasured pairing carefully, for he was bound away from me and, clouded with regret, described his years bereft, his hewn disguise, the loveless trap; the haughty wife who thissed and thatted coldly and without regard 'til all was ruin: a marriage cleft and in my lap. How, after days, and days again, again we talked (though ever less) aloud), and in our stretching toward a center, scarcely touching, tucked and stitched the raveled edges of our lives together. I'd never trusted the idea of being loved before the chase, before the searing trek across self-immolation land; but in this memory of how the love I'd sought to raise found me ere I had even thrilling caught the taste of ore at hand: herein lies the becoming of my life, my history. c. 1987, by Rebecca Henry Lowndes |
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