Morning Air

Poem

Morning Air

 

The other morning, air

damp and heavy

sirens

urgent on the wet  

blossoms of Red Buds too

line the street

the world is strange

dark skies, and

baby-blue polka-doted

masks

 

Bewildered

like the morning after my mother died

the gut-punch of grief

that’s how it felt

waking up

hollow and uncertain

wearing black

on a balmy spring morning

and then,

another grim day of news

 

Grandmother came to my bed

early

lilac hair whispering

hot against my ear

she ruminated about small things

what if?

how can I?

why didn’t I?

she stood-up

translucent

like the breeze

in the coarse black

dress from head to toe

everyday

for 20 years

and then,

another day of wearing black 

 

Patient Penelope comes to mind

with tear stained cheeks

waiting while

clematis bloom heavy in the air

climbing the alabaster column

where she leans

against the fragrant breeze

hemmed-folds of black  

sweep across

blood-soaked stone

white arms

touching

lips,

heart,

hips,

with fingers

resting there on the knotted belt

 

Mourning for

twenty years

and then,

another day of brutes ravishing her palace

 

Waking up

to the fresh spring day

and then,

mourning air