Failing and Flying
Everyone
forgets that Icarus also flew.
It's
the same when love comes to an end, or the marriage fails and people say they
knew it was a mistake, that everybody said it would never work.
That
she was old enough to know better.
But
anything worth doing is worth doing badly.
Like
being there by that summer ocean
on the
other side of the island while
love
was fading out of her, the stars
burning
so extravagantly those nights that anyone could tell you they would never last.
Every
morning she was asleep in my bed
like a
visitation, the gentleness in her like antelope standing in the dawn mist.
Each
afternoon I watched her coming back through the hot stony field after swimming,
the sea light behind her and the huge sky on the other side of that.
Listened
to her while we ate lunch.
How can
they say the marriage failed?
Like
the people who came back from Provence (when it was Provence) and said it was
pretty but the food was greasy.
I
believe Icarus was not failing as he fell,
but
just coming to the end of his triumph.
"Failing
and Flying" by Jack Gilbert, from Refusing Heaven. © Alfred A. Knopf, 2005
.
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