house call

here at the kitchen table where I’ve always done my writing.  wherever I have lived I’ve always been here.  right here feeling the industrial breeze, the sulfur well breeze, the suburban breeze. 

it’s all the same.  and each comes with venerable urgency.  a desire to make it.  to see through it.  to feel the university of all ages through the blandness of leaves. 

as she sits in the other room studying for Boards.  our torments both consist of form and content.  but when so much depends upon a vast curriculum of knowledge I feel foolish beside the white pines eating nectarines and debating the next line.