The Escaped Gorilla
by David Wagoner
by David Wagoner
When he walked out in the park that early evening
just before closing time, he didn't take
the nearest blonde in one arm and climb a tree
to wait for the camera crews. He didn't savage
anyone in uniform, upend cars
or beat his chest or scream, and nobody screamed
when they found him hiding behind the holly hedge
by the zoo office where he waited for someone
to take him by the hand and walk with him
around two corners and along a pathway
through the one door that wasn't supposed to be open
and back to the oblong place with the hard sky
where all of his unbreakable toys were waiting
to be broken, with the wall he could see through,
but not as far as the place he almost remembered,
which was too far away to be anywhere.
just before closing time, he didn't take
the nearest blonde in one arm and climb a tree
to wait for the camera crews. He didn't savage
anyone in uniform, upend cars
or beat his chest or scream, and nobody screamed
when they found him hiding behind the holly hedge
by the zoo office where he waited for someone
to take him by the hand and walk with him
around two corners and along a pathway
through the one door that wasn't supposed to be open
and back to the oblong place with the hard sky
where all of his unbreakable toys were waiting
to be broken, with the wall he could see through,
but not as far as the place he almost remembered,
which was too far away to be anywhere.
Firstly: support your local NPR station, please! It's tax deductible and, like your local library, it offers an enormous number of lovely resources. Don't let it slip out of your fingers.
Second: when I read this yesterday it left me with such a sweet and heavy feeling of sorrow in my chest that I knew I'd want to keep it somehow. So, I thought 'hey, I just started a blog! I'll post it there!' Also, Jane Goodall herself has been brought into by the honors college at UArk, so I'm going to see her tonight after I head to Crossfit.
Have you ever felt something similar? That sickly sweet feeling when you read something? If I hear or see something similar, I tend to tear up, but reading, for whatever reason, is slightly different. Reading gets something deep inside me that wrenches a half-turn to the left -- the same feeling that you might get, for instance, when you think about the next time you'll see your secret crush -- the heart-stop and drop of joy (to see!) and sadness (because it might be unrequited). Ugh. It's so horrible and beautiful. I can't even talk about it because I'm getting the feeling just when trying to explain it and it is excruciating.
Anyway, it is my secret hope that seeing Jane Goodall talk about the environment (for I'm sure it will be more environmentally-based and less about apes) will instill in me that sweet sickness and I will be, again, assured that restoration biologists are on a beautifully deadly path of heartache; battling against the inexorable push of the suburb and finding sad joy in the "restoration" of the pillaged pockets allowed them -- knowing that some species will inevitably be lost, but that battles must be picked in order to salvage those who are salvageable.
... or it could be a rousing talk about the horrors of humankind pillaging and raping the earth à la Rachel Carson.
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