to know the man
…I did not dare to remember
Until one day
I met a memory
It was a friend
He took me along under
his umbrella…
“Walker in Prague”
Vitezslav Nezval
to
know the man who had a small boat.
who
loved children. whom children
loved. who had a limp but never broke
under
it.
until
his
pretty wax-blonde boat,
sealed
every season, stripped and sealed,
each
petite seam squeezed so devotedly
even
the sea’s obeisance
insists.
to
kiss
such
a man’s dowsing hands
that
lift children into that boat,
turning
to
gift a rain
coat
to two shivering
girls
. . .
and
a boy sneaks
past
so when the man is done
and
pulling the chord and looks
up
at
the
too many, well,
they’ve
settled down. mild man,
they
like him
but
they… he’s not firm enough
and
not enough
will
get out.
small
boat.
a
hundred
yards
out. sixteen
children. when the water’s up
to
the gunwale he sees the last boy
he
lifted
go
stiff, a cold shift
wicks
up
his leg toward his throat.
he
looks up after
he
sees the bow how only
bow
dip in. but
the
man can’t
panic. even as it all sinks, nose
like
a submarine. all those battle
ready.
to know
this
man. before all this. before,
when
the boat was solace
blonde.
and
then. only then, after.
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