“Occupation” by Nettie Farris

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When you said that you had been occupied, I was confused by what you meant. At first I thought that you were working, but then I remembered that you weren’t, this summer, teaching. Then I thought maybe you were drafting new poems, or revising old ones, but then, of course, you would have responded to the comments on that one poem (the one about lost objects) when I made them, and not a week later, after my prompting, suggesting that you had been detained by obligations and hadn’t had time to work on the poem. So then I began to truly wonder what was occupying you, why you were so unavailable for conversation. Perhaps you were making plans for summer travel. Or maybe you were planning a new course for the autumn term, a course you had not taught before. Perhaps you were busy reading—what—I have no idea—you rarely talk about that. Perhaps you were practicing an instrument, or learning a new one. Perhaps your hands had not been busy at all, but merely your mind, which was elsewhere. Perhaps you had been busy thinking about how nice it would be to have acquaintances who require nothing of you, not even a response, and don’t even bother to prompt you for one.

-Nettie Farris

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