July/Aug 2015 • Vol. XXXVII No. 4 PoetryJuly 1, 2015 |

Two Walks

The walk I took with my friend when he set out a problem we both knew neither could solve. And the walk I took with my wife with its little agenda— four items I'd saved up to tell her about, including my walk with my friend. Meanwhile, the spring of New England, grudging and lovely, flooding the relenting air with gold light, gold on the bare trees, and gold on the bristles of last year's cornstalks in the dark earth of the rain-damp field. Walk, and walk, and walk— my wife, my friend, everything orderly and thoughtful as a Sabbath, a talker and a listener, a listener and a teller, the scenery insisting on perspective, the crisis good material once we'd studied it, chuffing and striding while the brain enjoyed its fresh air, burning all the brighter, like a flame on top of the body—or like a child on its parent's shoulders — some clouds flying ahead of us in the lengthening and assuaging daylight of early spring.

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Uncontested

By Alan Feldman

The walk I took with my friend when he set out a problem we both knew neither could solve. And the walk I took with my wife with its little […]

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