Identification never asked to be connection
never claimed such an occupation
Identification casts off synonyms, hyperbole
predicative nominative
lost its copula
threw away stative verbs
Instead comes to prevent missed connections
correct misconnections
prays for disconnect
to find peace
* * *
Response wakes up
calls call
gets no answer
Switches from monologue
to soliloquy
I walk along the rivers
Which sources lie between
The pale white clouds in the sky
Which ends anywhere
Its tail a snaking wisp of smoke
I want to cross
The rickety wooden bridge
To the other side,
An uncharted mysterious terrain where
Strangeness is subjective.
January, and with it comes new courage,
New light,
New heart.
I finally cross it.
The raging rapids conquered
Connections, bold
And strong.
www.sorrowsinaserenade.wordpress.com
Sometimes silence says what the words can’t tell,
Sometimes all it requires is being on the line,
“AHEM”, she spoke and “HMM”, I spoke.
And that was enough to convey ,
To each other that we care,
Whether the other one cares or not.
We miss each other,
Whether the other one misses or not.
We still think about each other,
And we hope the future would be better.
We wish the better of the tomorrow for each other.
We don’t use words much,
Ahem and Hmm says it all.
I miss her,
She misses me.
I care and so does she.
I am perched upon a wall, this low brick wall of the college of my youth and i am watching passersby. A woman, a mother, perhaps, not a student, stops to take pictures of a cherry tree in bloom. Not unusual except that it is night. It is night. I watch her in fascination, entertained, as she, a tourist, moves around the small tree, capturing this angle, then that.
For a moment it’s all I need, this wall, this woman, this tree, her focus, the rest of us forgotten in her task. I have all I need, this wall, this perch, to be audience to her passion, a false connection, a bit of her joy that I can steal and make my own.
Author’s note: Pingback to fourwindowspress added March 24, 2012 because Sonja’s Night Blossoms reminded me of this moment again. Thank you to Thomas Davis and the amazingly talented family over there.
Palms.
Over-spread
Spread over
in January
on desert
afternoons
known for dry
attached to heat.
Then the movement comes.
Convection
starts as a breeze
and ends up turning
the raw into a memory.
And the shadows
of those tamed fronds
are far from
where Jesus tread
but once a connection comes
it’s hard
to let it go.
