Booshwa

All That I Am
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2003-09-28 16:33:31 (UTC)

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The Poem That Took
the Place of a Mountain

There it was, word for word,
The poem that took the place of a mountain.

He breathed in its oxygen,
Even when the book lay turned in the dust of his table.

It reminded him how he had needed
A place to go to in his own direction,

How he had recomposed the pines,
Shifted the rocks and picked his way among clouds,

For the outlook that would be right,
Where he would be complete in an unexplained completion:

The exact rock where his inexactnesses
Would discover, at last, the view toward which they had
edged,

Where he could lie and, gazing down at the sea,
Recognize his unique and solitary home.

-Wallace Stevens


I was thinking today, while compulsively reading my
fabolous new book, how long I'll stay in Alabama. It's
nice here but maybe a little too laid back and slow for
me. I don't think I can see myself staying here for too
long. Long enough for me to get on my feet and perhaps go
back to college and get my finances and debts in
order...perhaps. That was the plan with Washington too and
look how that turned out. I wonder what it is I'm looking
for in all these different places. Like Washington,
Alabama just doesn't feel right...it doesn't fit me. Maybe
the problem is I'm trying too hard to assimilate these
places and they're just too big and stubborn. Perhaps they
need to be taken in slowly, yet deliberately, like a cup
of hot tea. I try to enjoy them and make them my own but
it just doesn't feel right. Maybe I'm looking for someone
to assimilate me. To want me. Maybe that'll make me stop
and settle. Maybe then it'll feel like home...maybe.


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