Joan Digby

CONTINENTAL DIVIDE

Between what is and what was
stands the Continental Divide

In times past I was known
among tennis partners
as “the backboard”
for my return of every shot

Now the crumbling of my macular
makes each dim ball aimed
in my direction an invisible mystery
shot through a tunnel of darkness

And so I quit and seek another pleasure—

walking with Snowball my aged pony
who shares the gulf between what was
and what is. We both remember
when he could roll from side to side
stretching his muscular legs to the sky

Now he is satisfied to roll in one direction
slowly and easily with me tethered to his side

We are one in our gentle decline
crossing that Continental Divide
testing our limits knowing our safety
and love lies in each other’s care


AIRPORT SECURITY

Next to my handbag,
plucked for a rifle
by airport security,
was a white box
containing human eyes.

Its forbidding neon label:
—EYE TISSUE IN TRANSIT—
had the effect of a
powerful negative charge
repelling all who approached.

“Forget the X-ray,”
I wanted to shout.

“Forget the rubble heap
of batteries and pens
wallets, keys, papers and pills.

Here is Tiresias—
come to pass his dark scrutiny
on a new pollution,
and among the clutter
of human disorder
concealed by
travelers at crossroads,
He will find truth.”

Oyster Bay, New York