There are Monday morningsfollowing every escape,shadows behind turned backs,whispers behind closed doors.
There are footprints leadingaway from joyous occasions,fogs lifting from melting ice,ragged blooms in mud season.
There are memories wound tightin skeins of regret.There are things we keptsecret after all.
Kerry asked the Real Toads to complete and use in a poem this line: "There are things we kept secret after..."
Ah, those footsteps leading away, and Monday mornings leading back.. the regrets...the secrets... This poem has given me cause to sigh very deeply.
ReplyDeleteamong so many wonderful images 'ragged blooms in mud season' stand out....
ReplyDeleteI love your thing with words, you know that. You'll always be a favorite poet of mine. <3
ReplyDeleteskein of regret...I think many have a basket full.
ReplyDeleteWell done.
There are so many gorgeous images in this. Beautiful, beautiful work.
ReplyDeleteThe regrets, the things not done, or those done.. those are the secrets indeed.. and like a millstone around our neck it's Monday ordeal.
ReplyDeleteI agre with Mama images piled on top of images. this is great poetry.
ReplyDeleteWhat a profound beginning:
ReplyDelete"There are Monday mornings
following every escape"
Love it.
Sometimes the light of Monday morning is too bright....Such a creative use of the phrase
ReplyDelete... and now, it's Monday morning. :) xo friends!
ReplyDeleteMonday, Monday ... regrets are painful, yours are beautifully captured.
ReplyDeleteat least now it's Tuesday. ;) xo & thank you, Helen.
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