I’ll Turn But Clouds Appear
You gather and disperse and nothing I do salves my hunger.
Where are you, if not here among the roots of dead flowers
or inches below the window’s opening
in the leaf-filtered light. Or spread across
the ceiling, caught in filaments of expelled
hope. Savoring motion, I look up and address the Dog Stars,
longing to catch your attention. But clouds muffle
my words, and instead I turn
to the fragrance of tomato and garlic and spice
wafting into the night. What could bring you back?
Not love. Not wine. Not solitude, nor the sound of my voice.
I spoon out the sauce, cautiously, and wait.
* * *
“I’ll Turn but Clouds Appear” first appeared in Bindlestiff.
O at the Edges 
“…caught in filaments of expelled hope…”
These ethereal moments and images you create are magic.
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Those moments seem to occupy more and more of my time these days!
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To live in magic, how glorious and tender.
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Well, sometimes it’s a bit fierce and brutal. But they balance out.
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Fierce and brutal I’m familiar with. Quite familiar. This past year, following a wide open year of raw openness in writing, I retreated, became self-protective and barely write anything. It didn’t work. Being shut down doesn’t offer protection. It simply grays and numbs. I’ve cried several times while putting my pencil to page in the past couple of weeks, gut-wrenching pain, but I’ll take this fierce and brutal over gray and numb any day.
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This is true for me, too. When I write, I find answers to questions I never knew existed. I learn, and what I learn is often not pleasant, but it keeps me moving forward, looking ahead.
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Exactly. … answers to questions you didn’t know existed.
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Isn’t this wonderful?
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Thank you, Leslie!
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Lovely.
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Thanks very much!
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so beautiful and tender!
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Thank you, Nancie.
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Beautiful, and it brings tears to my eyes.
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Thank you, George.
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A sentimental longing for a loved one and musing about After Death, Sirius will open the gate for a meeting, perhaps just outside the window, or ceiling or among the clouds. A simple meal triggers off that longing …and waiting for a mystical reunion. Life is really a longing and waiting game. Sorry, it’s a personal feel, but this is the pleasure of reading and enjoying poetry.
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I like and appreciate your reading of the poem. Thank you.
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Most creative poetry. Perhaps a bit of garlic bread while waiting and the wafting aroma may bring love back.
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The fragrance of garlic bread would certainly entice me!
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Such sadness transcends through this poem.
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Let’s hope it balances out for us all.
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Safe Hugs~
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I like the last line, especially. And I am most intrigued by the Dog Stars, plural.
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Well, it is a binary system. 🙂 But I must confess that it was a typo I chose to keep. Somehow it sounded better…
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Ah, I didn’t know about the binary. Serendipity!
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