Reflection
in a Glass of Wine
at
the End of Another Day
I
haven’t counted—
I
never count—but he arrived
in
the kitchen for supper
seven
times today
between
1:30 and 4:15.
I
gave him notes
(supper
at six o’clock…
shower
at 5:30),
but
they went the way of all notes,
to
be tacked to the wall
of
his barn office, or his door,
his
desk, blending with notes
from
April, from January,
from
last year and the year
before
that, notes instructing him
to
feed the dogs, to refrain
from
feeding the dogs,
to
put out his garbage, notes
reminding
him of my phone numbers,
how
much oats each horse should get,
how
many cats he is feeding,
notes
giving him the dogs’ names,
the
horses’ names,
my
name.
