House Sitting, Mid-July

My vision swims.
Is this, then, what madness is--doing things
without knowing the reason why? I am waist-
deep in the swimming pool,
half-stiff in my work clothes. The hem of my blouse
darkens with chlorine. Behind me the little black dog watches,
concerned, looking for someone
to notify.

The heaviest lavender buds have fallen to the bricks
on the patio, but the bees in their lustful quest
pass them up.
The sodden bodies of impatiens bob by.
There are no mosquitoes.
In this unknowing moment I am sure
my blood has the same heat
as the sunset air, the bathwater-warm clear water,
the soft eternity.

1 comment:

Kevin Allen Jr. said...

I wasn't hugely impressed by the little black dog, i thought the first two lines of that poem were very funny, but the follow up didn't hit me, but seeing the dog show up again in this poem was really warming. I like this, it's like raymond carver as a woman having a rough day. That's a good thing.

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