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Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Private Language


The sender of the list is not the same as the receiver, even
if they bear the same name and are endowed with the identity
of a single ego....

Jacques Derrida

My lists of essential things,
achingly composed,
my dashed off notes,
of what I might forget to do—
all, all for someone
I can’t ever know, someone
whom I cannot meet, however long I pace
the parking lot, something like my dad
who left before my first tooth
and did not report in
until the day he jumped the train
and died. It’s how it is: a shame.
Someone who does not exist
isn’t calling your name.

1 comment:

  1. This is a good poem. Maybe I am the only one that understands it!

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