Last Swim of the Summer

heat rises in wrinkled waves here,

beside the pool, as I lay cheek to concrete,

draining the liquid from my ears,

but still the sound is blurred because

I am listening to life through a tin can

            of ever rattling ruminations.

 

there is poetry in the short breaks

between laughter and splashing water,

tangled lines running invisible as filament

between kicking legs and flailing arms,

and I feel the eyes of a man watching me

as I work things out inside my head, but

I know he cares more for the curve of my hips

            than the turn of my phrases.

 

it is impossible to be completely content

(I have decided) when the world is brimming

with images and metaphors begging to be written,

like babies crying behind hospital windows

-- tagged and labeled, but not yet claimed --

and I am a mother searching for that one face,

trying to pretend that I know my own flesh,

(because it is expected) when the truth is

no one truly knows a thing without first

            holding it in their hands. 

Reviews

[David Scott]

Very introspective poem.
I see the mind needing to be explored further.
The search is the point. The labyrinth is not obstacle to finding your soul hidden in some sacred chamber. The soul is found in every twist and turn, every breeze and intuition, every eye we see observing and those we do not... How do we hold the passing moments in our hands to examine and diagnose the condition of who we are within these moments.
One day we may be lucky enough to find a soul mate who reflects back to us some of who we are. Then while holding our soul mate we understand better what it might feel like to hold ourselves...

Well, I'm rambling now. Sorry, got me thinking.
You wrote something I wanted to explore or just had to. Ha.
Great write as usual. You are talented!

[K. Louis]

I completely agree here with David...and Sarah great write.

[Jack...]

This was so well done my friend. Another in your wonderful collection of thoughts and ideas. You take the everyday and wave it in front of our faces hoping we notice...we do, you can count on that.

Indeed do we really know anything if we haven't embraced it in our arms or in our minds?

Amazing again Sarah

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Thank you so much, Jack :)

[Pryde Foltz]

Great story and image you have penned.

it is impossible to be completely content
(I have decided) when the world is brimming
with images and metaphors begging to be written

Loved this bit. Loved all of it.

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Thank you so much, Pryde...your words mean the world.

[Rita L. Sev]

So many superb lines in this piece, each taking my thoughts to another place.

"I know he cares more for the curve of my hips than the turn of my phrases..." a line that says so much.

"no one truly knows a thing without first holding it in their hands..." Whew. I am blown away by this, Sarah. Is this why we write? To know our "babies" - or to know ourselves? To see our thoughts in print - bring them to life - only to know that there are still more waiting for their turn in the sun...

Got me thinking, as you so often do...

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Thank you so much, Rita...I'm happy that I could innitiate some deep thought :)

[Nancy]

Thank you for this beautiful insightful piece. One never truly knows, we are all on a quest...till we are old and frail the search for meaning to self continues. I truly adore your works

[TL Boehm]

I know he cares more for the curve of my hips
than the turn of my phrases.
That line grabbed me - I'm a writer. I've written a dancing plethora of poems, lyrics, blogs, a couple of novels - and my husband of 22 years has read maybe four or five poems. They embarrass him - when I used to write about our budding romance. It was the thing I thought I did best....and he was always underwhelmed. A small part of me aches over that.

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Haha TL...I can relate. Isn't it funny how women usually gravitate toward men who can "write" them poems of love and grand romance, but when a woman does it, a man is often embarassed? Thank you for the kind review.

[TL Boehm]

Yup I dated a poet briefly but couldn't compete with all the objects of his poetry. He was a collector of "muses"

[kublakhan27]

You have an indescribable knack for finding images within the images. Were I writing this, I probably would have stopped at blurred sound in the first stanza, because that's as far as I could take that image in my mind. But that's when you really go to work, adding so much profundity to it with life through a tin can. There is even a bit of wry humour here if one chose to read it that way. I rarely offer up such revelations outside of my writing, but when it comes to women, I will take poetry over curves any day...nuff said haha And then there is the analogy in the final stanza that truly spoke to me. I have referred to poems many times as my babies in the past, and will likely continue to refer to them that way, but again, you go beyond the poetic call of duty and bring motherhood and poetry so closely together that they become one in the same. Great work as always Sarah.

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

You humble me, my friend...I truly appreciate and take to heart your words.

[MsJewel]

There is depth to your poetry - written between the wonderful images you create for your reader. I am in awe of your talent. Your poem is exceptional!

:) Julie

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Thank you so much, Julie...your words mean a lot!

[Tom]

There are a lot more layers to a person than what you may at first physically observe, so better to take the time to get to know each other in a platonic sense at first and then wait and see what develops after that ! ( if at all anything does )?

Very creative and thoughtfully penned Girl Friday !

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

So true, Tom...we must always look beyond the surface :)

[Misery]

Delightful are your turns of phrase.
Thank you for sharing this moment of a poem being born within you as life splashed and flailed around you. As for phrases - you turn them as if they were clay on a potter's wheel. Well done, dear poet.

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Thank you so much, my friend.