For today, a poem

Walking at NightbyLouise GluckNow that she is old,the young men don't approach herso the nights are free,the streets at dusk that were so dangeroushave become as safe as the meadow.By midnight, the town's quiet.Moonlight reflects off the stone walls;on the pavement, you can hear the nervous soundsof the men rushing home to their wives and mothers; this late,the doors are locked, the windows darkened.When they pass, they don't notice her.She's like a dry blade of grass in a field of grasses.So her eyes that used never to leave the groundare free now to go where they like.When she's tired of the streets, in good weather she walksin the fields where the town ends.Sometimes, in summer, she goes as far as the river.The young people used to gather not far from herebut now the river's grown shallow from lack of rain, sothe bank's deserted —There were picnics then.The boys and girls eventually paired off;after a while, they made their way into the woodswhere it's always twilight —The woods would be empty now —the naked bodies have found other places to hide.In the river, there's just enough water for the night skyto make patterns against the gray stones. The moon's bright,one stone among many others. And the wind rises;it blows the small trees that grow at the river's edge.When you look at a body you see a history.Once that body isn't seen anymore,the story it tried to tell gets lost —On nights like this, she'll walk as far as the bridgebefore she turns back.Everything still ...

Source: Jung At Heart - April 12, 2019 Category: Psychiatry & Psychology Source Type: blogs