How lovely is the night
?
Were I not terrified,
how lovely it might
be.
Spools of wire air require
I flee frightened
through
past
favorite flowering fields forgotten
folded
laying fallow
sorrow sewed in summers and come autumn harvest fears.
Now,
I take my death pal’s hand
and lead him from beneath the brambles along my unlit street
inside.
If tonight we play,
let’s play.
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favorite flowering fields forgotten
ReplyDeletefolded
laying fallow
sorrow sewed in summers and come autumn harvest fears. = wonderful
is it death that is winter, is it the rains and spring unnamed and just waiting, hovering to be the opposite of death? this is what i think, but want to know what winter brings indoors. one reader's engagement, just one, curious what others think. lovely poem.
I guess the metaphor does play out nicely that way, although that was my intention with the "death pal" figure. I was imaging my beloved murderers in the shadows of the bushes by my night house. I guess, too, that Spring is the only unmentioned season if we go along with the seasons all being represented and representing something (parts of the life cycle, probably), and its absence might be a powerful statement to consider. If it is time for death, let's die. Only we are so caught up with the word "death" that in order to get around the usual weight and fear and tagedy of that word in our language and culture, I used "play." Death is another thing. It's there. One day, we will stay up all night talking about Molly Simpson and Mrs. Carsten, and then it will be over and that will be fine.
ReplyDeleteThank you for your comments and interpretations! Thought provoking- very much appreciated!
*"although that was **NOT** my intention...." oops- skipped an important word there.
ReplyDeleteAlso, I was worried about that ENTIRE passage you quoted as being wonderful being kind of cliched, tired, stale, worn out, etc. Idk, I still think it may be those things O_o
ReplyDelete