page 312
I reread the same paragraph
three times
each time convinced it’s different
each time less certain
what language Joyce is using
outside a neighbor’s dog howls
as if he too
has lost his place in the sentence
I tell myself I’m expanding my mind
laying down neural corridors
but mostly I’m just watching sunlight
creep across the carpet
a quiet visitor
who’s waiting to be noticed
I underline two words
that might be important
then discover my coffee
has gone cold in the kitchen
Bloom, I decide
might be the only one here
who understands me
by afternoon
I’ve made it through
one and a half episodes
my own thoughts begin to take on
the shape of parentheses
footnotes
Latin phrases
as if even my life requires annotation
for anyone to follow it
later I close the book
balance it on the arm of the couch
and stare at it
like a guest who’s overstayed his welcome
but promises
he’s leaving
soon though I know
I’m the one
who will be leaving
first
Image: Cover Page of First English Edition of Ulysses (1922)
