The Way Forward
Swordplay is all
the rage at Edie’s
school. You can’t have
an actual sword, but
may display the swagger
of your arm, which Rupert
does, all blade and swashbuckle,
though he must ask Edie
first, May I wave my saber
at you? Or, drawing the two
fingers of his pistol, May
I shoot? Edie rolls
her eyes––yes, yes, lets
Rupert pull the trigger,
then spins, then topples, then
plays dead. She’s expert
at that, and when Rupert
moves toward her, searching
for a pulse, faint breath, for a way
to take it all back, there’s no
one to ask permission of,
no one to say that the way
he goes now isn’t the gang-
plank of his making.
Fountainebleau
We’re in the library, high
as the kites that kites
fly, eying the massive globe
on which Napoleon lay
his hand, imagining
all the lands that would
be his. How that world
must have spun
to escape him. In
the winter gardens,
we lunch on blood
oranges. A train comes,
and one grey cloud. I
will forsake you.
