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Listen to Jim Johnstone read an earlier version of "Not Saying"
Not saying
Fists in our sleeves, we reach our limit. No way
past Lake Ontario, nothing else to do
until you say the thing you need to say.
Sweeten it if you like. Stir in a name.
It’s only talk and we’ve talked our heads to
foam before, testing the limit in a way.
Like the last time our four feet inched partway
over the city’s ledge. Lightheaded you
started to say something you needed to say
then started again, We could— we can fly one way.
Right over the lake. How you said it, as if we were two
wild geese, no credit limit in the way. Ain’t no way,
I said. Way. No way. Way. Tonight at the lake
your courage fails again. Knuckles in your pits, you
flap your arms and squawk. Say what you’re dying to say.
Of course, don’t. We’re getting carried away.
We’ll stay this side of Lake
Ontario, clenched. Nous
sommes à la limite de l’amitié—find a way
to translate. If you won’t say, I won’t say
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