In October once, late evening,
after a long-weekend’s hideaway
where a Great Lake had licked
my mind into submission
and a steady wind had advanced
the ancient dunes their micromillimeter,
I sat in the blue light of the television
and heard the words that numbed
then freed me to myself—
I’m leaving you—
and one of us said, “It will be for the best,”
neither yet knowing if it was the truth.
D. R. James, a year into retirement from nearly 40 years of teaching college writing, literature, and peace studies, lives, writes, bird-watches, vegges, avoids the tourists, and cycles with his psychotherapist wife in the woods near Saugatuck, Michigan, a short ride from the lovely western shores of Lake Michigan.
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