A Poem For Sunday

Andrew Sullivan —  Aug 4 2013 @ 10:04am


“Little Eternities” by Mary Ruefle:

When are we happiest? he asked her.
Not one of them could get the seats
to go back, not one of them really knew
what was in the glove box, though
everything there was theirs.

When they got to where they were going,
a park, a gray squirrel came jumping along.
Childhood! It was in one of the houses nearby.
Money! Every day it seemed to loose itself
from its lurking-place and drift away.

So he smelled the underside
of his own arm. And the squirrel
paused, one of those little eternities
never mentioned again.

(From Trances of the Blast © 2013 by Mary Ruefle. Used by kind permission of Wave Books, Seattle & New York. Photo by Grant Loy)