(Four-for-one today, because I have been Presently Absent or Absently Present or.... well...Missing...and I may come up Missing again. Anyone who actually listens to all four gets a cookie...and my undying....umm...curiosity? Awe? Stupefaction?) Missing, part 1 How many times did you wake up in the night, find an empty cup and wonder where your mind used to be, your self alone and just you in the bed, and just the one bed with unfamiliar sheets, your head on a strangely scented pillow? I would have brought her there, you know, for you to hold, and not for me. You needed her more. I can see that now. I would have stood close by, just a ways, and averted my gaze; let you have your time alone as I tried not to turn to stone. Missing, part 2 I wonder--did those strange scents jar your memories and dreams toward unseen collisions with silence, that wrong kind of quiet made dense with soft specific sounds that spell a place far deeper than our well- used alphabet of ancient objects? Our limbic world just disconnects over time. Our temporal selves get disheveled. Cerebral shelves do not suffice any more. We strive to hold things in place, but see only place-holders and when age eats worlds, the words fall off the page. Missing, part 3 Do you feel the rain where you are? Is there water there in the far reaches of memory? Does time fall through the air, like brittle rime crusting the sea? Is this weather? Tenuous shifts of the tethers that tie us, each to our own place? I stand in the rain, raise my face to the falling sky as my sight becomes a part of the pale light that is left to us, and wonder how we can all be so sundered and still hold together all this madness, beauty and darkness. Missing, part 4 Are your words still with you? Did you carry your stories deep into the night and leave them like luggage on a railway platform, an age and more down silver tracks, with just the wind, the stars, and leaves like dust blowing and hissing in the dark? This silence leaves a fading mark. The thing that took you left your face in bodies unknown to you, lace filaments tracing what the eyes of others cannot see: the ties that generation takes away; the look in eyes that cannot stay.
Yes. I listened to them all. What a lovely set of poems. They are so like where my heart is this week. Things that are missing can tell more than the things that are here.
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Yay! The first cookie is yours! (I had a feeling it would be)
Negative space speaks
much to my heart as well.
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Negative space is useful in art (as well as in reality). There are times it’s easier to get a likeness when drawing the space that isn’t the thing.
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I may need to take this in doses, one at a time, The first is very moving. I see this. Yesterday, at the bedside of someone whose mind is intact but whose body is not so top shape, there was wistful talk about visiting the spouse whose mind is eaten away by fear and paranoia, the spouse who refused to go to the park for fear of being kidnapped, by her own husband. But I shouldn’t say so much, it’s skates too close to privacy violations. Anyway, a simple poem that goes deep.
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Thank you, Lynn
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agh; somehow, I missed these ones (geddit, geddit?); I am seeing you address your mother in some of these – I can do this because I know, and the words allow me to know beautiful
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Thanks as ever, M. Yes, both my parents are addressed here. In some ways, the best conversations we ever had….as I think you don’t really get to know your parents until your forties, and then….?
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