Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Day's end


I've not had a great day...One day I might talk about it with you, but not tonight. It's not been all bad, but I feel I've been through the emotional wringer and I haven't much to offer (but dedication to NaBloPoMo compels me here, I'm actually proud to say).

So, I hope you'll forgive me if I dip back into my writing file and post some more of my work. This time, it's a poem. (Whoops, just lost some readers...LOL! *rolling her eyes*)

OLD ACQUAINTANCE

I have been visited by an old acquaintance.
I wouldn’t go so far as to say
we are old friends.

I would not invite Grief to my wedding,
nor a leisurely backyard barbeque,
to sit with us on the red cedar bench
we wrought from timber
brought from father’s house
(before the final sale),
to gaze across the summer-lush lawn,
suck on cold Coronas and lime,
as limpid crimson fire sheets the horizon,
dusts scarlet wisps of cloud,
and signals day’s end.

No, it’s definitely more
of a gentle acquaintance:
we might meet over a cup of tea,
together alone under the sweeping
feathered green canopy of the poinciana tree,
which bows its head
over the deck of a favourite cafe,
to speak wordlessly of those
not joining us that day.

Or during a quiet hour
paging through albums,
shuffling piles of photographs
a thousand moments stolen
from time’s eager grasp,
Grief may visit briefly,
seeking melancholy succour,
only to leave when laughter threatens.
(I couldn’t really be friends with anyone
without a sense of humour.)

Or sometimes on a wander walk,
my pawed friend for chaperone,
all golden enthusiasm and lolling tongue,
along the mangrove-laden curve of river -
mirroring memory’s tide -
where thoughts might follow
the leisurely flow of water
and sink too deep.

On occasions, driving together,
the Peugeot’s sun-baked vinyl
releases pungent reminiscence;
my father’s hands upon the wheel,
clannish ancestors echoed
in the fair red hair glinting
on lean artist’s fingers,
where my hands now rest.
Grief nudges me: “Remember?”
A friend would be more subtle.

No, Grief is just an old acquaintance,
one I’d rather be losing touch with.
But lately, we’ve been spending time again.
I’d like to move or change my number,
but experience tells me, with time,
Grief tires of my company.

3 comments:

tiff said...

Honey, that was a beautiful poem.
I hope you are ok.

mountainmama said...

Thank you...yes, I'm okay now, just a little wrung out and melancholy, as my choice of material shows!

baby~amore' said...

I have been away ... just catching up with things. I hope you are okay ... yes a very beautiful and poignant poem.

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