I’ll Turn But Clouds Appear



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.



8 thoughts on “I’ll Turn But Clouds Appear

  1. The brevity and directness of this poem lends it strength: each line is without excess, each image sharp and clear, so that we feel the weight of every word. No space is wasted.


  2. I suppose cooking can’t hurt … when one is already aching within … garlic good on many physical counts, perhaps beneficial on a broader scale? Leaves me pondering associations of foods with people departed. For my mother, it would be cooking field peas (she called them cream peas) which involved standing for 20+ minutes stirring as the water slowly boiled away and then a few minutes longer after adding cream to replace the water, somewhere in there adding a pinch of sugar. (Only freshly grown, just-shelled peas from a friend’s garden, of course! I could never duplicate the results with store-bought fresh or frozen … though this poem stirs me to try again.)

    Liked by 1 person

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