+ “What is your favorite word?” “And. It is so hopeful.”
+ — Margaret Atwood +
+And you were there in the start of it all
and you folded your hands like little doves
that would fly away like an afterthought
and you turned to me the window light on your face
and you asked me something that I did not recognize
like a great throng of people who are not you
and I asked are we in a church
and you answered with the look on your face
of someone grieving something gone for years
but that they had been reminded of
by a catch in the light or in someone’s voice
and I think maybe it could have been mine
and I looked away thickly my head was in jelly
and I didn’t get an answer from you but I got one
I looked at the man in front of us with glasses
he was speaking and holding a book
and I didn’t understand him he was far away
and I could tell I was missing something important
and you nodded to yourself at something he said