It’s harder now to seebeautiful thingslike exhortations to skyin a rock song or the way the catlicks between her toes while bathing.These days, I might listento the whole record not hearinga single word, feed kittywhen she meows but keep going.I barely noticed various shadesof scorched grass blanketedwith wet leaves, and it must have beenbefore that when my foxglove browned.I am quite aware of the cold spaceon my thigh where your handshould rest, the bitterness of eachsip of discount coffee, my tailbone.I know that isn’t much.
Linking this up in solidarity and very, very late to Karin’s prompt in the Imaginary Garden: Thinking of the Little Things
Even little things tell a lot if they are part of such a larger story... love it
ReplyDeleteI know how hard it is, given how distracted we are by so much being wrong, to take pleasure in the small beauties....especially when so many are suffering. Yet, I suppose we still must, for they are all around us. Thanks for this, Marian. I totally relate. Hope you are all recovering from your colds.
ReplyDeleteThe majesty of simply carrying on with the whole damn thing, elegantly expressed.
ReplyDeleteI really loved the second read... and even harder to enjoy after Sunday
ReplyDeleteI love the carrying on, the going through the motions in this.
ReplyDeleteAbsence takes such a huge space and time and attention... Weird thing, isn't it? One would think that something that isn't there wouldn't take so much.
ReplyDeletePerfect tone, for the theme.
I enjoyed your images and the despair pervading this work.You are very talented.Excellent poem.
ReplyDeleteI love this Marian! I love the detail of the cat washing between her toes being something beautiful and the way it can be overlooked when sad. I love the lines:
ReplyDelete'...various shades
of scorched grass blanketed
with wet leaves, and it must have been
before that when my foxglove browned'
and the awareness of 'the cold space / on my thigh where your hand / should rest'.
Beautiful melancholy.
Keepin' on keepin' on is sometimes a forced march, robbed like autumn of sweetness and verdure. How long has it been? Noticing and not are keen here, and the absences in the final iteration are devastating. But we keep on. Great write, Marian.
ReplyDeleteThis is so incredibly evocative, Marian! Especially touched by; "I barely noticed various shades of scorched grass blanketed with wet leaves, and it must have been before that when my foxglove browned." Beautifully executed.
ReplyDeleteLove that hand not on the knee and the tailbone. I feel it deep.
ReplyDeleteThat is so beautifully expressed, the pain leaps out of the poem in the end.
ReplyDeleteI'm a dreamer, they might still
ReplyDeletebe there if you close your eyes.
A fun and thought provacative read, Marian.
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I can relate to the sense of detachment in this piece, Marian. Sometimes there is too much going on inside one's head to allow much attention to be given to the little things.
ReplyDeleteI feel this. I get up, put my shoes on, and go numb into the day.
ReplyDeleteI can relate to this numbness so much. Perhaps we forget how to feel because we remember too much of the pain. Well penned.
ReplyDeleteI'm a dreamer, they might still be there if you close your eyes.
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