Exile
Having abandoned one, I claim the other.
Rain speckles the driveway.
Solitude pays its toll with unmet expectations,
thunder receding, clouds shriveling to dust.
The mockingbird chirrs its cricket tune
before flying to a higher perch.
What you call home I call diminishment.
What you surrender, I bundle and mail to strangers.
O at the Edges 
And this I go nowhere and reach places.
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Sometimes this is easier.
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Solitude paying its tolls … indeed. Tolls perhaps the “measure” (thus evidence) of value?
I am left wondering what on earth your diminishment references, but I definitely caught a glimpse of my own!
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Regarding tolls, yes, no, maybe. 😀 I had a particular diminishment in mind, but decided to leave it open to the reader.
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Intriguing and profound.
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Thank you, Obi-Ron!
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In a way, this one reminds me of your palinodes, as there seem to be opposing/retracting impulses at work — the progression from (self-)exile to “diminishment” (quite the opposite to the agency one might associate with the initial choice), and then eventually to dependency on “surrender” (generosity?) on the part of the diminishing factor, in order to reestablish connection to the outside… This says everything and nothing, and resonates deeply, though I can hardly find a foothold for understanding. At any rate, it evokes a sense of compassion and solidarity in me.
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I suppose one might read this as an exploration of the dichotomy between expectation and reality. Or not. 😬
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a.k.a. the artist’s bane…
There wouldn’t be much to poeticize about if things always went according to expectation.
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Having everything go your way would certainly spark a few interesting thoughts. Ha!
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Good point.
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There was a Twilight Zone where that was THE definition of hell.
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I think it very well might be.
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I like the openness of this leaving the reader to add her own meaning.
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It works for me. 🙂
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Another beaut!
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Thank you, Daniel. Much appreciated.
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I find solitude frees from expectations.
But I’m always ready to make use of what others discard…(K)
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Alas, it doesn’t completely free me from mine. But I’m weird that way!
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Like shadows…
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Oh, yes. 🙂
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I need to think about this one for a bit. It feels deeper than it appears at first reading.
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There’s a lot left unsaid. Perhaps too much.
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There is something so lovely about this poem — so many specific touchstones caught within it (mockingbird and cricket tune; thunder and dust; home and diminishment; surrender and strangers)… My reactions to your poems should no longer surprise me, and yet, and yet…they echo through me like a half-remembered voice. I must read and reread this one to try to unravel its potency and my response. Thank you!
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As always, I am grateful for your comments, Carrie. With pieces like this, poems that don’t follow a linear “strategy,” my hope is that the words resonate in some fashion, to allow the reader to find a personal connection.
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