Friday, November 16, 2018

Wavering seas

You were always like that
Like fire and water.

They say the two do not mix.
But with you, they did.

Alternately passionate, burning everything before you
Then dousing it all, dousing us all
with waves of grief.

Your red hair too
curling around your face
like flaming waves
that the wind could not hold
like a fiery halo
surrounding a passionate angel's face

Wednesday, November 07, 2018

Poem: Candlesticks

My mother-in-law gave these to me on the day I got married.
Along with a conch shell, and something else i don't remember.
They were made of bronze, she said.
Had been in the family for years.

I imagined those candlesticks in their ancient setting
An embroidered or lacy white tablecloth flowing over a large rectangular table 
and the table itself laden with food to feast on.
Turkey, ham, lamb on the like.

For, in my imagination, the mood had to be festal.
Bronze candlesticks were not for everyday usage.
Only holidays, marriages, births, would call them forth.

Of all her gifts on that day
I preferred the conch shell most.
Unlike the candlesticks, it did not speak of my husband's heritage
It did not call me to be what my mother-in-law wanted me to be.

It called me to nature
to the sea
Looking at the candlesticks, 
I held my ears  to the roaring within the shell
and listened.

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