The poem’s the thing.

..


The thing has wheels, a bar
-row. It’s red, and it matters. We
don’t know why.

It’s raining.

There
are chickens.
(Whether or not
they have yet crossed the road
is open to interpretation.)
They are white.
(Lest ye think they might
be purple.)
They matter, too. We
don’t know why that is,
either. But we see it all,
vividly. We feel the rain
on our faces, watch its
slant as it glazes the metal.
There’s longing here,
loss. Something buried
in the mud that we can’t
quite touch. The sky is closing
in and the puddles are gathering
and our hearts hold a deep
ache, even though we
don’t
know
why.

 

..
Prompted by Poetic Asides November Challenge, day 19

 

 

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4 Responses to The poem’s the thing.

  1. This is absolutely beautiful. I can’t place what makes me keep revisiting your words, but I love the depth, the beauty and the pain.

  2. atrmws says:

    You have red (and us, in a wheel) I reel.

  3. Shawna says:

    I sense a little WCW inspiration underneath this.

    “They are white.
    (Lest ye think they might
    be purple.)” … Love this.

    “either. But we see it all” … But we see it all = ether. Through the ether. When we’ve had a strong dose of ether. Sometimes we need the blur to see the clear.

    “There’s longing here,
    loss. Something buried
    in the mud that we can’t
    quite touch.”

    I love the ending too. “Even though we don’t know Y.” We’re talking about XY, men. We don’t get them. We don’t know them. Just like they don’t know us. I think there is love pain in this, even before the love has ever happened. Or even after, since we don’t know anyone better at the end of a relationship than we did at the beginning.

    Then there’s death and burial in the wheelbarrow references. Planting the dead bodies to hopefully grow them into flowers. Something beautiful can always come from bitterness, ugliness, and pain. It just depends on how we plant, water, and nurture what we bury.

  4. Yes, they matter…it all does and I love your purple chickens. 🙂

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