Where you Lost a Finger
 
1
On the phone when you were in Alaska
The seagulls came close
To your ear
Their tongues are black you said and long
Men were chasing the birds
With guns
And the birds were chasing
You and it was the first time I heard
Seagulls
Like that—like they were speaking directly
To me—at the post office
Waiting to mail your letter
An unwell woman behind me belittled
The skirt I was wearing
After the line, I was crying
In the parking lot
And I was so young I did not see the romance
Of a boat carrying my letter
To your boat
 
2
While the sea rocked you
I sat in front of the air conditioner
Like a hunk of frozen meat
I did not see the romance of making money
Thought it was foolish
To risk your life for it
Didn’t know then
About life’s exigencies
Awake asleep awake asleep
In each other’s arms
I thought the day was a bottle of champagne
I thought eating an Iranian sandwich
Was a memory
When you came back from fishing
Your arms were muscled and brown
A friend had chopped off my hair
While another friend videoed it
But even that’s not a memory
A memory hurts
It scuttles past as immemorial
And self sufficient
As an insect
 
3
Some people don’t like endless night.
But I liked Alaska.
Black trees making up a mountain.
Going up the lift
I thought of ways to tell you
I don’t know how to ski, that I had lied about many things
More than once my moral crises have peaked
On mountaintops—
We drank hot chocolate
And took the elevator down—
But in Montenegro when I broke my foot on the mountain
In front of the Lady of Good Health
I declined to be helicoptered down, and the men and the stretcher.
I crawled down the mountain on my hands and knees
I tried to really listen
To what the earth was trying to tell me