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We can't return. We can only look behind from where we came and go 'round, and 'round, and 'round in the circle game. ~~ Joni Mitchell
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Cleaving
By Nordette N. Adams
You, as I see you,
who once sent me flowers
disguised as words,
evade
when I say what I need
in this twilight that paints us
silver as a frozen lake.
Yet I still reach for
your hand, cooling,
limp against your thigh,
stingy.
With wild purple threads
I twirl from room to room,
seeking what we had in
barren corners,
tripping myself,
smelling in descent our
extending staleness.
I forgot to tie
us tightly,
I let this cruel winter air
dry us like crumbs.
But you could freshen,
preserve the sweet
taste, the hearty bread
chocked with raisins
of our wrinkling hearts.
I grant you these powers
as you gave me power
to preserve,
but never warned me
you'd boxed these magic stones,
slid them beneath my
satin pillow.
I only heard you breathing
beside me while
you endowed me.
And I see you
against the wall,
weaker than I thought.
I return those stones.
Nourish us.
(c) 2009 Nordette N. Adams
Also at WSATA
Related works:
- Your Name Should Rhyme With Mine
- Reading You Again
- But I Feel Him
- The Green Green Grass
- Learning Curve
- Apology
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African-American Books Examiner
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| Reviewed by Edwin Hurdle |
11/16/2009 |
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| A well written poem.Excellent work.take care |
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| Reviewed by E T Waldron |
11/15/2009 |
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| Such tender remorse,yet the resentment hides in the shadows,of what is said,and the pain still throbs! Superb poem, Nordette! |
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| Reviewed by Nordette Adams |
11/13/2009 |
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Thank you, Karla. That's a good observation except that he wouldn't place his hand against her thigh. He's the one pulling away, not her. He's stingy, no longer giving in the relationship, and and not touching her. As you can see, I've worked out a longer narrative for these crazy lovers in my head.  Took a break from working on my novel to write a little poem. |
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| Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner |
11/13/2009 |
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Yet I still reach for
your hand, cooling,
limp against your thigh ...
Oh, Nordette. This is powerfully penned but the above lines left me totally undone - think it might be more effective if 'my' replaced 'your' - JMO, for what it's worth - beautifully poignant and very well written.
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla. |
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| Reviewed by jude forese |
11/13/2009 |
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"preserve the sweet
taste, the hearty bread
chocked with raisins
of our wrinkling hearts"
luv that image, Nordette. .. |
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| Reviewed by John Bidwell |
11/13/2009 |
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Your words bring up feelings to haunt me as I call it a day, and images that will linger in my mind as I take a different journey home.
Never the same.
John |
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| Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader) |
11/13/2009 |
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"in this twilight that paints us
silver as a frozen lake."
Different take that the rest. I felt the distancing of a once vibrant love. A weakening of the bonds which had served you both well. A last gasp to return across somewhat burnt bridges . . . |
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| Reviewed by Regis Auffray |
11/13/2009 |
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when I say what I need
in this twilight that paints us
silver as a frozen lake.
So many lovely images and feelings/emotions and sentiments in this sweet poem, Nordette; so much that I can relate to. Thank you. Love and best wishes to you,
Regis |
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| Reviewed by richard cederberg |
11/13/2009 |
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Sad!
The imagery
reinforces the gist
effectively. The notion
that it is better to give than to receive
seems lost these days - contrived selflessness
with a backpack of escape options.
"Nourish us" indeed!
r |
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| Reviewed by Karen Lynn Vidra, The Texas Tornado |
11/13/2009 |
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Excellent write, Nordette. Crisp. Clear. Succinct. Perfection! BRAVA!
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :D |
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