deary, deary, 3/29/11
i close my eyes and peak out of a kitchen window.
only now is it you i see? wearing white. swinging a baby in your arms.
you look up at me and smile. who is it i see? is it you?
i'm writing this letter now, to express the window of my heart.
it's a wooden window. made up of four squares, white blinds on the inside.
right above the kitchen sink. where i wash my hands of emotions in the brew.
guitar strings run my dreams. hand seams tell me the direction to go as i breathe.
"i want to see my blood across the sand...from my window my only view, is you"
do you listen to music? do you feel the words scrape across your soul? the notes intertwine your skin? make you feel warm and glowing..come hold me..i want to see you.
i drop on my knees, defeated. a white dress covers my skin. hallways surrounding me, windows or doorways, im not sure. there is a train in the back ground. my hair is down.
are those tears i see on my face? what is my mouth doing?
wake up...i need to wake up.
oh, i'd like to.
the end.
I'm enjoying this new poetic phase you're exercising. It's more . . . narrative-like and less metaphorical but still impacting.
ReplyDeleteLL
Alma
This to me feels like a scene. Or no, not one single scene, but fragments of one whole series of scenes. Not one event, either, but a string of them.
ReplyDeleteThe thing with your older poetry is that it's very metaphorical, which I love, but this phase is more abstract and yet not so, because you're being more direct in a way. Just putting it out there, which sometimes we just have to do.
The whole imagery of "white" to be gives the poem a feeling of both purity--like being at your worst, not hiding or pretending--and yet also of emptiness--like someone losing something or just feeling confusion.
This might be totally wrong, but the sense I get from it is that by peering out the window is like looking out into the future, into the outside. And then what the speaker sees in the future is a combination of wholiness and emptiness, like knowing that a breakdown is coming on.
And the whole lyrical feeling that I get from it comes from your play with words about music notes playing on the skin and being inside the body. It makes this speaker's epiphany seem like a dream and a nightmare. You know, one of those bittersweet things.
LL
Alma