two summers

a summer story..Inspired by sweat

two summers

the first one, you came
ocean seas streaming white
blue waters up by the sky
dark nights,
two impeccable wooden chairs in the front porch
exactly two pairs of shoes, neatly arranged
outside the door.
we, night's lonely vigilante
guarding the evil from the might
until
roots shriveled and tree barks grew tall
attacking through the sea of grasses
silently at first
but a whole battle field opened up
twisting and turning, we won it
your hair fell open, my specs broke.
First,
we made love by the porch
when no one watched
and then in the bed
sheets crumbled in our touch.

the next summer,
you left
somewhere in the morning haze
I waited for bedside coffee and scrambled eggs.
one impeccable chair had broken down
someone must have stolen a shoe pair
I formed a potbelly of sweat in my vest
and felt heavy, emaciated.
empathetic friends made parties in nearby lawns
a girl or two looked up,
sadness and gripping enigma in eyes
my days became nights
my nights became far out universe
the art library always stayed closed.
A couple finally moved in next door.
sounds of petty talk and cruel laughter invaded my lawn too.
dogs barked to tell me to go to sleep.
but I waited
till the storm raised the night sky
into a battlefield of rage
till the clouds all waited gladly to die
till they came
in numbers
tears and assortments
millions of them
piercing me, my bare anticipating skin
momentous, perpetual and everlasting
giant droplets of icy cold, long awaited summer rain.


© Nothing Personal. May 26, 2011.

Reviews

[Siddhartha]

What fantastic narrative, NP. You deftly compare and contrast the joy and bleakness of the two summers. The aroma of love made the first one beautiful while the memory of it made the second one unbearable. This is a wonderful poem. Thanks for sharing.

[masqued_muse]

I have never seen or felt the act of abysmal grief, like I have witnessed here..no words...
masqued_muse^^

[The Analog Kid]

I enjoyed the differences between the two summers. Memories can haunt us.

[Poeticadia]

After the tender union and sensuality of the first summer, the second falls heavily on the heart. It makes a powerfully moving comparison with some very apt and neatly worded details. The second stanza is momentous, rising to these amazing lines:

"but I waited
till the storm raised the night sky
into a battlefield of rage
till the clouds all waited gladly to die
till they came
in numbers
tears and assortments
millions of them
piercing me,"

Excellent! Poetry at its most expressive.