The porch swing moves, slightly
The girl inside watches from the window,
young, too young to equate an empty swing
in the kitchen, talking with her family.
in someone else's mouth,
at the swing again. This time
I died some time ago. Soy mujer de historia. I passed away. No, no, don't be sad. Those words have lost their meaning for me. I could just as easily have said that I've changed my mind. Really, all tha happened was that I changed my mind.
I certainly can't be sure when it happened--the exact moment. If you've ever swum beneath the surface of a pond that's been allowed to go still. . .if you could hold your breath long enough (and I have no problem with that now) so there were no waves on the surface, you would be hard-pressed to tell whether you were beneath the surface or above it. You could reach above your head to touch the margin between air and water and see your own reflection reaching. Then you could fragment it, touch the surface, make the margin chaos. Are you above or below? It does not good to look around because things are moving with you. It gets even more complicated when you realize that neither man nor woman is the measure of all things. I, for one, certainly can't be sure, even now.
Did I tell you that I am convinced that when Christ walked upon the waters, He made the very same statement: that there is as much below as above, that there is as much before as after?