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A letter from home
By PoisonInk
Today is the twentieth day of August.
I have bought apples, canned
food
And bread. I did not queue long.
An old woman died in the
queue, praying;
Perhaps praying for death.
How are you? We shall
meet soon, I am sure.
I lay on the beach
The letter out
of sight.
The deep green wave startled me,
Touching my feet.
We shall meet soon:
I a woman without home,
And windows and
doors have no memory.
How to leave and return
When my eyes
are no longer
Filled with the silence of stars;
When my heart
is no longer immune
To the dark blossoms I harvest?
Who and why:
questions I have worn as
My birthright. I can scent a wind
Far
away, and wind-scattered death.
Today is the twentieth day of
August.
And I promise we shall meet again
Soon. Then I shall
rise and depart,
Sit atop a hillock and look on
As friends' letters
rise
From the valley of death
And tumble about me on the beach.
Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited.
Ask the author first.
Copyright 2010 PoisonInk
Published on Tuesday, December 14, 2010.
Filed under:
"Poetry"
Comments on "A letter from home"
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A former member wrote:
this was a refreshing read, i love the tone here, somewhat longing and a bit of regret. i too was struck by the line how to leave and return. welcome to dp, cant wait to read more
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On Tuesday, December 14, 2010, Sketso
(416)
wrote:
what an interesting read, with so much subtly (or not, to some) hidden beneath that often skimmed top layer. How to leave and return indeed...
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A former member wrote:
I found a depth to this narrative, this poem so free in verse .... stumbling as it were upon something that lends itself to the absurdity of living... a process of loss in the midst of gain and vice versa... are we not always already waiting to meet that which we have always already known and not known... to find at our feet what we dropped so long ago... this is full of wonderful holes for me to stick my proverbial head in.... and hide like a flightless bird... from the truth that beckons behind these words.... a paradox no doubt. Welcome to the Valley, do stay.
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A former member wrote:
I can scent a wind Far away, and wind-scattered death...
I found a strong message here.
Thank you,
Pavel
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