I'm Back!
Hello everyone,
I haven't posted in awhile. I've been busy moving to DC, entertaining guests, and nursing a dislocated knee. All is better now and I'm back. I've written a few new poems which I will post here. Any comments are welcome. Thank you.
Listening to Helfgott
I.
The piano starts and I know this is some
form of God through instrument.
Could it be that the piano is something
not to be mastered but tackled, buckled
down and wrestled to the dirty ground?
Helfgott keeps it up. Inspiration
is the movie Shine. His breakdown,
his love, the way he plays like honey,
like a Sunday.
II.
Today I read Plath’s biography.
I’m at the part where she becomes
depressed in college. Like everyone,
I’m waiting for the part where she
opens the oven and doesn’t look back.
I teeter between anxiety of society
and society’s anxiety.
III.
Somewhere in Fairfax, Virginia
a poet is sleeping past noon.
A mother feeds her child not realizing
this food is more than food but an
instrument of love, an extension
of self, a reason to live.
IV.
Now meditating becomes easy,
the rooms have grown smaller
and the apartment is not a house
to crawl through.
The cats rise to the moon and pounce
about in the night. The poet awakens.
There is nothing that cannot be said,
there is nothing that cannot be healed.
---------------------------------
Letter To My Mother
Mother,
I’m here without you.
Someone has cut the cord,
now bloody, it hangs somewhere
between Illinois and DC.
And the shootings here
would never happen at home,
you would worry.
You should worry.
I stay away from the city
at night, I think of you there
miles away with your hands
delicately wrung around a book
or clutching some rag.
Father grows old, we both know
that maybe he’s just hanging on.
You say he’s losing weight
and you’re worried.
You should worry.
Mother,
I’m writing my opus.
I’m loving it all.
And my apartment is a coffin
I refuse to die within.
We call it home but it’s nothing
compared to the big blue house
on a hill surrounded by foliage
and strange love.
I remember your last grasp
around my body. You held on
as if I would float away.
Mother,
I’m floating.
----------------------
I hope everyone is doing good and having a great summer.
Sarah
I haven't posted in awhile. I've been busy moving to DC, entertaining guests, and nursing a dislocated knee. All is better now and I'm back. I've written a few new poems which I will post here. Any comments are welcome. Thank you.
Listening to Helfgott
I.
The piano starts and I know this is some
form of God through instrument.
Could it be that the piano is something
not to be mastered but tackled, buckled
down and wrestled to the dirty ground?
Helfgott keeps it up. Inspiration
is the movie Shine. His breakdown,
his love, the way he plays like honey,
like a Sunday.
II.
Today I read Plath’s biography.
I’m at the part where she becomes
depressed in college. Like everyone,
I’m waiting for the part where she
opens the oven and doesn’t look back.
I teeter between anxiety of society
and society’s anxiety.
III.
Somewhere in Fairfax, Virginia
a poet is sleeping past noon.
A mother feeds her child not realizing
this food is more than food but an
instrument of love, an extension
of self, a reason to live.
IV.
Now meditating becomes easy,
the rooms have grown smaller
and the apartment is not a house
to crawl through.
The cats rise to the moon and pounce
about in the night. The poet awakens.
There is nothing that cannot be said,
there is nothing that cannot be healed.
---------------------------------
Letter To My Mother
Mother,
I’m here without you.
Someone has cut the cord,
now bloody, it hangs somewhere
between Illinois and DC.
And the shootings here
would never happen at home,
you would worry.
You should worry.
I stay away from the city
at night, I think of you there
miles away with your hands
delicately wrung around a book
or clutching some rag.
Father grows old, we both know
that maybe he’s just hanging on.
You say he’s losing weight
and you’re worried.
You should worry.
Mother,
I’m writing my opus.
I’m loving it all.
And my apartment is a coffin
I refuse to die within.
We call it home but it’s nothing
compared to the big blue house
on a hill surrounded by foliage
and strange love.
I remember your last grasp
around my body. You held on
as if I would float away.
Mother,
I’m floating.
----------------------
I hope everyone is doing good and having a great summer.
Sarah
posted by Sarah L. at 12:36 PM
5 Comments:
welcome back sarah. it's nice to see you haven't lost your affinity for the english language. as for your father hanging on-we're all hanging on. as regards weight loss we don't see katy couric interviewing some m.d. every morning complaining that our kids are not eating enough doughnuts. keep the poems coming.
your poem is very touching and real, it made me cry and sad.
I love you, dear friend.
I love you, dear friend.
the shifting scenes in the four part poem draw the reader in hypnotically.
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