I told myself, with the bite of 3 AM
That “cold” is a relative word
As ice clinked like martini glasses at the end of my hair
Toes curling deeply into the bedrock of snow boots
Just as a plant seeks purchase on a rocky ledge
My stubbly pink roots went burrowing for warmth
And found none in the barren soil of worn out woolen socks
“If I were in Alaska,” I reminded myself quietly “This would be a Spring thaw.”
As I crunched through frozen banks of snow
Aglow with the borrowed light of moon
I distracted my shudders with thoughts of Summer
Who had rarely warmed my bed or laughter
Despite sunlight seeping through the memory of trees
It was always on a road’s cold shoulder I cried upon
Whispers in the darkness of another’s brief passage
Four footed and fleeting for the scent of my humanity
Reminding me that I am never alone
Even when I walk in the seeming wasteland
Of a snow bound, desolate path
I am slogging toward the sunrise
A rosy promise higher than I can reach
My white, bloodless fingers reach for it like the trees do
With their bare bony limbs naked of greenery
There is a moment of synchronicity
As the forest and I stand swaying together
Awaiting a solar reprieve
From the sharp-toothed maw of January
I discover my house is darker than the sky
Who is now glowing softly with a promise
I do not find echoed in my hollow heart
A muffled curse as I kick the solid oak door
Frozen to the jam, refusing to budge
My anger and sadness adding fuel to my assault
There are three dark boot prints painted on it’s leering face
Before I am successful in passing my own threshold
I look around at the wordless emptiness
That ricochets off the notebooks and those walls still without plaster
Why did I struggle so desperately to arrive here?
This sanctuary of gas station wine bottles and thrice-smoked cigarette buts?
Why have I climbed a mountain so high, that nobody can reach me?
How is it that I can hug the trees, my wallowing, the pride of a tiger
But not embrace another human being?
Perhaps every hermit who ever glimpsed eternity
Had these same thoughts of shouting it from the highest hill
Only to fall silent in the time it took them
To leave their cave to find a pencil
Quietly I sink into my solitude
Burrowing into piles of blankets and prose
I am testing myself, I decide sleepily
Preparing for the time I will need to walk
Where no path is willing to lead me
Tempering my spirit with fire and ice
‘Till my pen is as sharp as the blade of this patriarchy
Buried in my back
Well done, an epic, so much of this is so familiar to me, it gets a touch fierce in the end, I like it, like you brought the cascades with you into your poetry but left them behind long ago where they belong. Those games our mind plays to justify the ridiculous situations we put ourselves through…I had to laugh, and I always feel a sense of satisfaction after reading your poems, I dont know how else to describe it at the moment
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Thank you very much for that. I highly respect your words and opinion, I find strange familiar echoes in your own work.
This was a memory unearthed by some strange quirk of happenstance today and I had to write it- to scratch the itch.
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Wonderfully written, Kelley Rose. I keep coming back to your blog for your poems. They are truly exquisite 🙂
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I’m flattered you think so. I have been criticized for writing poems like novels- because I can’t find time to WRITE a novel 🙂
I tend to be long winded 🙂
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If it’s honest, something will shine through, and something is shining through here as clear as day 🙂
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Thank you my dear I worried this one was too personal, my metaphor too broad for others to enjoy it. Thank you for your compliments
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So good! “Why have I climbed a mountain so high…”. It resonates very deeply. Perhaps we will be able to one day discern the the razor’s edge difference between loneliness and being alone. Press on!
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The road home is a long one…
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