Desert Life

Grief

 

 Santa Fe - 2008 

 

More was settled than the dust in that harsh
cold morning. The brightness was misleading.
No sun could warm the piercing chill.
Standing next to you, nearly touching,
I felt the glacier climbing up my ankles
reaching for my memories of you.

 

 

Massillon - 1952 - 1966

I rode your shoulders then
and touched the ceiling with my child's hands.
No one ever had a taller, fairer brother.

 

At 18 and at 23, you'd had enough and
left our town as though it was on fire,

not knowing that our town's gossip,

immortal, and our father's fatal flaws

clung like mites inside your lashes, blurring

memories as well as insight.

 

You mailed me your Army cap. I wore it faithfully
till some little b******s ripped it off.

 

Our father died. I got pregnant, married, dumb.
Contempt and fear sifted through those years.
The iciness of loss kept me in hiding. No avalanche
could frighten me as much as your impatient voice
closing up a conversation on the phone. I was not
allowed to see you, I was told to keep my distance.

 

 Santa Fe - 2008

  

When seventy-six you finally asked me home
to put in place the missing parts we shared.
Or so I thought. The old love I brought only
scattered decades' dust into your angry eyes,
brought on the raging ice, the arctic hate.
I mentioned dust just now, I think.

 

I felt it moving in my mouth, choking every word
I thought I'd use to bring my brother back.
Dust and ice. Christ, I thought I'd rather die
in dust and ice than face the fact: there'll be no
kind goodbyes, no final understanding, just
that flat taste of dried up earth and sting

 

of never-ending pointless ice. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

Various places 1965 - 2008

Author's Note

This is my first poem since returning from New Mexico. I got some good constructive criticism that I want to follow up on. Thanks to all who commented publically or privately.

11/7/2008 This is an entirely different poem about the same event. I'm getting a bit closer to want I want in this one.

Reviews

[Eagle Cruagh]

You write good stuff.

Unfortunately , though you try repeatedly
you will never recapture those moments.

Writing is a tremendous therapy, but it
can, and nothing else can fix our lives.

You are special because you have come
as close to recapturing life as I have seen.
You also look life and death directly in the
eye and we are pleased.

------ Eagle Cruagh

[Ruth]

The imagery and structure here is awesome!
I love it!
Surreal too, excellent account of a journey that touches upon a lot of disparate elements, love it!
xx

[Larry Dyson]

Wel lI identify with the feelings..and I like the proseic way of the verse..

[theludus]

'waste' in the sense of something going to waste, wasting away.

[Michael X]

This doesn't strike me as poetry, it strikes me as a letter dialogue
and if it were a poem, you've butchered the opening with cliches and that isn't enough to hold the readers attention past the first four lines,
the imagery has been more the double emphasized which shows the
author has no real control over the imagery and its just too difficult to read.
on that note, consider it practice and fun. and keep it up.

[theludus]

yeah, this had got a lot of merit about it, not quite sure of the significance of the ice and dust etc, i mean obviously it symbolism for waste etc but maybe it could be worked in so that it doesn't stand out so much, at present it kind of feels like the white patterning sewer types put on suits, in that it's not seamless, or perhaps not giving you the most bang for your buck. this critique is a bit of a tester to see what you'll say etc.

[Tina Kline]

I can feel the pain and regret in your words, and the frustration of not being able to fix what went wrong. I think this is a great piece of writing.

[Dom Macchiaroli]

My fave line: there'll be no
kind goodbyes, no final understanding, just
that flat taste of dried up earth and sting

very well written!

[Coyote Poetry]

The poem internal struggle is powerful. We make many mistakes and can't repair them. I like the story about the brother and his cap. The poem brought me in and held me. Sometime we must forgive our self and other. I learn in a life to make my own decisions and not allow anyone to twist me up. When youth is our strength. We can be turn in the wrong directions. A excellent pom.
Coyote

[Ed Hart]

it's hard to tell about "final understandings", or when they will take place...it seems to me, that any kind of universe worth its salt would include a balancing in all things...but, what do I know...oh, your poem is now complete, and balanced in its own self...Ed

[An owl on the moon]

Just beautifully done.. you have a vivid form of writing that I only wanted to see continue, flowing across a lifetime. Remember passing through New Mexico.. felt the pain in the dust. Marvelous words... so glad you shared them.