Considerably Later, Something You Read

CONSIDERABLY LATER, SOMETHING YOU READ / Carol Murphy After forgiveness, there arrives one thing more with its empty suitcases, its buds of wings and no where to fly, arrives a thing more than divine, but also smaller, arrives what a tree feels toward winter who stole its leaves, what water feels for the cold that slices its depth into ice, arrives what the dirt road worn smooth says to all those wheels, arrives that flat-faced, steady-eyed creature of particularly light limbs, arrives a chUe bean, a june bug, a singing, white-socked shyster who grins no blame and she's right. Whatever face misery walked up with the last time, you'd asked for it, painted it yourself, that face, and when it finally came to stay, or when it left you as cold as the cold when the trees lose their leaves, and you swore you'd kUl it this time (and didn't you try, and weren't you sorry) and then one day this last one, the very last of all, something God never came up with except maybe in that God-is-dead incarnation, or the Hasidic God who scattered its fire into sparks, the spark that flew in last, a singing shyster, she's right, no blame, the look that holds no longing. 254 · The Missouri Review ...