I hear November walking near
her black shoes tap like rattling trees
she's still across the street and I
can't feel the wind that tugs her hair.
Her dress is gray, that non-color
that takes the life straight out of things
her eyes, when she catches my gaze,
are dark as rotting leaves.
"Don't mind Nova," October says,
his fingers tightly wound through mine.
His smile's so infectious, I
forget November's there.
*
These words are a bridge
between my emotions
and understanding what
they actually mean -
sometimes I make it
over the bridge, and the world
is brighter and clearer
than before - sometimes
the bridge is unfinished
I look at it and sigh
and just leave it alone -
sometimes the bridge is
falling to pieces
and I'm halfway across
as it breaks, then the world
reduces me to a
pancake of what I once was
(but each poem, in the end
is really a brick
and someday I will see
what it is (who it is) I'm building)
How has October been for you?
Kelia
I like both of the poems. I thought they both had unexpected areas.
ReplyDeleteYou can write a poem about playing that piano and the harpsichord.
Thank you!
ReplyDeleteI should try that :)