After a Day of Rain

After a Day of Rain Lilly pads and slippery fern leaves line the path as I walk down to the beach. My grandfather is buried in the lake, or rather, my grandmother poured his ashes in on the far side near the beaver lodge so no one would see. I missed the funeral, too pregnant to travel, and I haven't been to the lake in years. I stopped coming as a teenager because I had nowhere to fix my hair. The beach is brown, a little red with clay. The slender birches green with a day's rain. Red needles from the spindly pines are crushed beneath my feet. The air is fragrant and green and the world is green beneath the green umbrella I hold as I wade in knee deep. The water is warm and very clear. The wind tugs at the umbrella, lifts my hair, gentle as a spirit. I touch the water with my hand. My grandfather is buried here.

Reviews

[Michael Ceraso]

Lilly pads
and slippery fern leaves
line the path
as I walk down to the beach.
(nice visual imagery, introduces the scene of the topic well)

My grandfather is buried in the lake,
or rather,
my grandmother poured his ashes in
on the far side
near the beaver lodge
so no one would see.
(following up with tender, intimate moments had in privacy, but in the presence of the great eye--nature-as lake---solemn interaction with the world as we fold ourselves back into the fluidity of existence..ei grandmother putting ashes into the lake--)

I missed the funeral,
too pregnant to travel,
and I haven't been to the lake
in years.
I stopped coming
as a teenager
because I had nowhere
to fix my hair.
(yes, fabulous regret, the things one thinks are important when they hae no real grasp of the flimsy nature of existence...and the thing that held you back, the utmost important, powerful motivation, the product of the generatiuons, grandparents, parents, you and now you become the parent and soon the after the grandparent, preserving the cycle while sacrificing the strong desire to wnat to see your grandfather one last time, coupled with the regret of time lost over frivolness(spellcheck)...full circle...

The beach is brown,
a little red with clay.
The slender birches green
with a day's rain.
Red needles from the spindly pines
are crushed beneath my feet.
The air is fragrant and green
and the world is green
beneath the green umbrella
I hold as I wade in
(now you are taking it all in, everything is being noticed as if to make up for all the moments you lost to take it all in with someone who mattered to you, either way, it time to appreciate whats always been there for the heart to gather in, I love the repetition of the colors as if youy were finally seeing them, red...rED...REDDDDDDD....greeeenn...greEEEENNN...GREEEEEEEEEEEEEEN!..WELL, something like that)

knee deep.
The water is warm
and very clear.
The wind tugs at the umbrella,
lifts my hair,
gentle as a spirit.
I touch the water with my hand.
My grandfather
is buried here.
( wading in the water, longing to be reconnected with your grandfather and you are, in a sense, recommuning with him, he a gentle spirit, in the breeze, gentle as a spirit, in a place he loved, where his spirit remains alive because everyone who knows him wills it to be so...and maybe, in a sense, you are baptizing yourself, bringing your back to whats important under the spiritual guidance of your grandfather)

thatsa this guys vision of your poem...excvellent, well-pened all around and brought me back some intense emotions I felt when my grandpa marty passed..and i love feeling those again because they reconnect me with a memory i have been waylaying and need to touch base with every once in a while to reinvigorate grandpa's spirit again!!!!

[Davi]

i love your flow. it makes the poem even more beautiful. love how you describe the lake.

"I touch the water with my hand.
My grandfather
is buried here."


that was my favorite part. great write.

davi

[Abhra]

A beautiful piece!!! I loved the poised flow. The currents go at different paces. Itinerant, subtle One that is obvious and the one that is hidden. Once again a extraordinary piece!! Kudos to you!!!

[The Language of Birds]

Hello again Elizabeth,


I agree with Karabelle. This poem deeply matters from beginning to end. There is a careful and tender craft employed throughout, as moist and delicate as the lily pads and slippery ferns...

I had to stop at the end of the first stanza, and wait there, being still. That image of how the grandmother,

poured his ashes in/on the far side/near the beaver lodge/so no one would see.

was so intimate and private that it deeply moved me. It reminded me of how some animals go off to die in secret, and alone. So sadly beautiful.

The second stanza is equally wonderful. A sadness for a missed moment and an equally tender and private revelation with,

I stopped coming/as a teenager/because I had nowhere /to fix my hair. The unspoken regret here is exquisitely sad.

The third stanza is so vibrant with color and texture with the repetitions of the colors red and green, seemingly such ordinary words, but in your stanzas, become part of a tactile earthy palette that I can see so clearly in my mind. Coupled with the textures of spindly, crushed, slender etc. make this a new movement to an increasingly moving piece.

Your final stanza feels truly divined from some painting or a movie... the movement of the wind tugging at everything so gently in the picture, and then the water's touch up to your knees, and that first touch on the palm of your hand... Gorgeous. I feel the magic here.

And your final phrase, my grandfather/is buried here. It's perfect,

and reminds me of the ending of Sherman Alexie's poem, �Fire As Verb and Noun� which is about the death of his older sister.

I have tried not to project too much of my own experience into this poem as I read it. The grandparent�s death. my missed opportunity for similar reasons, the ashes spread without me, and several different places by the ocean, but especially on the pitcher's mound of the ball field my father, cousins and I used to pitch from.

What I'm trying to say is, this poem deeply moved me, for reminding me of my own experience, but at the same time it moved me for how beautifully it has been created.

Well done Elizabeth. This is a lovely, delicate, an important poem.


Warm Regards,
Jim Churchill-Dicks

[J]

This... was truly riveting, prosaic in delivery and sure but soft-footed in cadence.

I do have something you might want to consider though. In this strophe, you mention "green" four times. Obviously, this was deliberate, but I personally think it lessens the impact. How about taking out a couple, perhaps (as a suggestion):
"The air is fragrant
and the world is green
beneath the umbrella
I hold as I wade in"
--I don't know, but this seems a bit more concise.

Your opening strophe caught me right from the start. It made me wonder why your grandmother would pour his ashes where no-one would see. Perhaps, because this was a ritual only for her, and her alone to bear with?

Your second strophe: having nowhere to fix your hair seems like such an honestly wrought thought, in that you were perhaps too caught up with whatever you were doing to appreciate the peace and solitude that comes from going to a special place. That's what it made me think: youth and vanity and ego's etc etc.

Third strophe: the image of you holding an umbrella as you wade in is a picturesque scene, further enlivened by the rest of the scenery you mention as your backdrop. I can smell and see this, and what more can you ask for?

Overall, remarkably written, and evocative in detail.
J

[Kara Emily Krantz]

"I touch the water with my hand.
My grandfather
is buried here."

my god that almost slayed me.

BEAUTIFUL.

reverent. touching. and everything else that matters in this world :)

[Carlos Isaias Ruiz]

shocking. good. interesting