Desiderium

Abstract

Desiderium Matthew Olzmann (bio) From across this great distance,I’d like to give you: one cat.I don’t know much about cats but I like themfrom a theoretical standpoint. The idea of cats.The concept of cats. All that sleekness.The engine purring. The green eyes.Do cats have green eyes? Not a clue, butI like the possibility of a green-eyed cattracking a mouse through the basement clutterthe way a government satellite or malignant godwatches its prey from above before pouncing.I’d like to give you one of those.Never mind that a cat is a cuddly apex predatorwho would devour us if only it had larger fangsand instead will satisfy that cravingby clawing its frustration into your sofa.Relatedly, I’d love to give you one sofa. Mostly,because I like the word sofa. It’s a fantastic word,just like amethyst, hippopotamus, and paperclip.I’d like to give you those things as well, becausegiving is evidence of friendshipand friendship is evidence of love.Like the moon is evidence of gravity. [End Page 1] Like volcanos are evidence of tectonic plates,pressure beneath the surface, desireslonging to no longer be contained.The little receipts crumpled into yourcoat pockets are evidence of groceries purchasedlast November, and those receipts,remaining in your pockets until the following autumn,are evidence that you planned to think about them later. In a time of sickness or separation,when anxiety rearranges what we knowof our lives, it’s easy to assume things will eventuallysettle, go back to how they were. Like day becomesnight becomes day again. Like the songon the radio is your favorite, then you hearit too many times and it becomes sandpaperin your ears until, years later, it arriveswhile you’re drinking Vesper martinisin a hotel bar after interviewing for a jobyou’ll never get, and that song carries youback to a time when you were young,driving fast, and laughing. But believingthings can be like they once wereis like believing the toad can becomea tadpole again, or Michelangelo’s Davidcan crawl back into the block of marbleand the marble can return itself to the quarry. The last time I saw L______, I didn’tthink Wow; this is the last time I will see L______!In fact, we made plans. Those plans [End Page 2] became, Can’t wait to catch up!Became, Sorry, I missed you.Became a funeral in July.I don’t know whenor if you and I will see each other again. And what’s left, after everything,is this vase from your trip to Johannesburg.This small stack of vinyl. These few photos.The given things. A bookwith your handwriting on a note inside,saying, Until soon— [End Page 3] Matthew Olzmann Matthew Olzmann is the author of Constellation Route as well as two previous collections of poetry: Mezzanines and Contradictions in the Design. He teaches at Dartmouth College and in the MFA Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College. Copyright © 2022 The University of the South