Heat
That summer
he cared for our son
while I sat on the rocks
with a sheet of paper and pencil.
My legs tanned in the sun
the words flowed in the heat.
Complications.
He couldn't settle
that restless addicts blood--
I didn't know then
only now fifty years later
his ashes waiting to be scattered.
Only now I return
try to find the joy spots
those early poems--still
scratched in my notebook
chronicle a sweaty life.
It wasn't all him, it was me. Pampered
I expected the world to be kind
tried to catch the moon with my tongue.
9 comments:
Oh, Suki, I love-love-love "tried to catch the moon with my tongue". Excellent, heartfelt piece.
Suki, Turning and looking ...sorrows and all...this is beautiful.
This IS poetry straight from the heart. Gorgeous..... beautiful imagery..... and the accompanying photograph is perfect.
All of your emotions come through....
Brava!
Love,
♥ Robin ♥
One of those journeys back in time. You don't know whether to laugh or cry.
Lapping up life (catching the moon with your tongue!); greedy and self-centred as young artists must be. Expecting the world to be kind speaks volumes about one's innocence and the ensuing hard won battles on the road to maturity.
beautiful, evocative, wistful, yes love the moon on the tongue, great line!
When our mothers said you'd understand later...we didn't believe them...but they knew; You have to live life first and understand it later.
I love your story telling.
simply lovely.
I love every single word of this Suki.
I love the poetry that's being shared lately. Wonderful.
xo♥
Post a Comment