Without Letting Go

 

Without letting go

I pull the shadows of dreams around me

wrapping my loneliness in memories,

hungry for nothing other than you.

 

I count the days

        then the weeks

                  now the months

that you have pushed me to the back burner of your life again.

but I fail to blame you, I can only feel the coldness you’ve left,

knowing you’re edging the scales toward good

in every other breath you take,

taking the time to heal though you don’t think time is what you need

but needing time to heal and taking it, not selfishly at all,

until there is nothing but a smile on your face to share.

And nothing but a smile on mine as you make your way here.

I think home is what I’ve become, unrealized,

grown slowly into a warm hearth of brown stone

your heart blended with mine somehow.

 

Again, autumn leaves are all around me when I feel your loss most.

When no red maple leaves come in the mail.

 

Memories of waking too tangled with you

to know which part belonged to whom;

When your breath mingled with mine

until it was our own dream induced wine;

a veil of intoxicating lace between us.

 

 

I will not blame you,

that my breasts ache for you,

that my closed eyes see you as you were

not that long ago

in a bed that still waits

for us to join like twins in a womb,

the very silence of expectation becomes the warmth of a mother,

representing comfort, love, and the potential to bloom again, together.

 

 

Reviews

[Ed Hart]

This poem falls into a genre. Surely you don't want to be a 'genre' person, dancing the same sad waltz again, like it was the only tune in the jukebox. The way out of the pain is through it, or as Cat Stevens once sang, "All the doors open from the side you're on." The reason I comment on the content of your poem, is that it is long established you are accomplished in the art of words. All the rest is matters of the heart...

[Gandré]

a wonderful, really wonderful treasure ! This is letting go... this is how... one parting should be. I adored it. It also had a wonderful flow, all in waves and harmony. "I think home is what I’ve become, unrealized,
grown slowly into a warm hearth of brown stone
your heart blended with mine somehow." --------- I loved this part, so wonderful one, sincerely emotional writing.

[R J Askew]

Very wistful. Full of yearning. But it is the last three lines I like the most as that is a very tender vision and there is also hope of a reblooming. '...too tangled to know...which part belonged to whom...' also a good line.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

O.K. I love the line about red maple leaves in the mail..so....coooool! When my brother was in Viet Nam I mailed him some autumn leaves. He really loved that, a piece of home in the mail, great piece here.

[Rain]

Unusual blend of the pain of loss, but also the hope of what seems to be coming back. I like that. Terrific lines. You write this almost as if you seen it coming...both the leaving, and the returning. Very unique. Rain..

[TL Boehm]

Memories of waking too tangled with youto know which part belonged to whom;When your breath mingled with mineuntil it was our own dream induced wine;a veil of intoxicating lace between us.

incredible spinning of lines here....I especially loved the above imagery. the whole poem is powerful and gave me that lump in the throat, ache in the soul feeling as I read it.

[Emily B]

ahhh, I've missed your words.I felt your loss, your longing. I've seen those days, too, and you described it better than I ever could have.