Parable

Some fishermen pulled a bottle from the deep. In it was a scrap of paper, on which were written the words: “Someone, save me! Here I am. The ocean has cast me up on a desert island. I am standing on the shore waiting for help. Hurry. Here I am!”

“There is no date. Surely it is too late by now. The bottle could have been floating in the sea a long time,” said the first fisherman.

“And the place is not indicated. We do not even know which ocean,” said the second fisherman.

“It is neither too late nor too far. The island called Here is everywhere,” said the third fisherman.

They all felt uneasy. A silence fell. So it is with universal truths.


--Wislawa Szymborska, Sól (Salt) 1962

Apparition

Years later, I met my father’s ghost

one midnight in summer. He smoked

beside the house and walked inside

without shoes. In the hallway I stood

when he entered the front door

and went straight into his study

where no one’s been in ten years.

I was afraid he’d see me. I moved 

closer and he appeared as a young man

almost my age. I watched him

by the moon’s rays from the windowpane.

He unlocked a display chest, examined

a collection of watches, took one

and began to dismantle its mechanisms,

spread tiny metal pieces on his desk,

like he did during his better days.

I recalled my father always made

timely repairs. I sat in front of him,

as if to discuss my troubles

with a watchmaker, to tell him

my clock sometimes stops at certain

points in the day, that perhaps he should

take a look. Right then, he lifted his head

to address me, or so I thought. Perhaps

it was the other way around: am I the ghost

caught in the bend? I thought he didn’t see

me; he looked right through. My father stared

at the darkness of the abandoned room

waiting for something to emerge.

He raised his hands like a man drowning

in a river, eyes milky and blazing

with moonlight, till he vanished—Father,

did you find what you were searching for?

I remained where you had been, the moon

now a quarter rising above the haze of clouds.

Sleep of the Beloved

Oblivion: Happy/Sad Rooms from Amber Light on 8tracks Radio.