“Since I left you there seems to be so much more between us.” — in a letter from my ex-wife
Since you left, there are more mountains between us. More wheat fields and winters. More fried people running out of forests, more frazzled antelopes writhing in pain. Since you left, there are more car accidents between us. I could infect cities with my wonder at your absence and all the roads would curl into question marks and point towards each other in a useless period of pure distilled perplexity. They would put up road signs asking “Why?” And many wise scholars would stand by them all day saying “Because.” Because we are obedient. Because we have followed the roads to the ever-present period and are now ending all our months with circular, unanswerable confusions. Because there is a vast ignorance larger than my mouth and I can’t get it out of me — I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t exist. I should be half a tiger. A semi-butterfly. I should be a spider without legs, but you are there, and I am here, and like infinity it boggles me. Since you left, astronauts have danced on the moon and there are more footprints between us. More closed doors and sick Indians. More pipelines and Canadians. Big hooting ones with flags and borderlines. I would have to go over many jingoists to get to you. Since you left, several foetal mayors have been aborted on Main Street and there is more semen between us. I am sending you a picture of the doctor at work now on one of our streets trying to remove a suicide from it. He’s saying, “He’s malignant! He’s huge under there — already bloated into sewers and subways.” Since you left there are more black doves in oil slicks between us. More levity and false laughter. More orchards and suns and stars. I have made a round ring of helium and send it to you now without regret. Catch it as you would a quoit. One on each appendage. O, I would come to you. I would come to you but everywhere I turn there is this old lady in my way trying to scrub the shadow of a “Z” off the sidewalk. I say, “Hey look, it is just part of the word “Zoo,” you know, why not wait for night and begin again in the morning?” But no, she just moves onto the “O’s” and throws me a little bit of meat. If I ever get to you, I will have to be jumping and hungry. I will have to be very happy. If I ever get to you at all, it will be like scissors getting to the other edge of paper. Two slices will fall away from everything and with a strange sliced face like a kiss I will say “Hi” and perform several miracles while you’re not looking.