antithesis
here are two poems which i wrote back in march and posted on a blog, in a land far far away.
‘Let go’ she overturned her hand,
Palm down towards the blackened earth.
The trowel grey and heavy overturned the soil
To cover seeds, smooth white packages
Which, come spring, she said would spring forth the buds and shoots
Of all tomorrow’s gardens.
‘Let’s go’ she pocketed the hand and left the spade
Submerged in the moistness of the ground,
Grey and heavy, kissed by wet crumbs of toil.
I lingered, wouldn’t come so quick behind,
Tasted thickness of the dew, stared after her
Faded jean-pockets and sandal imprints in the earth,
My young face flushed and expression turning over.
I knelt after hearing the broken screen-door creak
And her atmospheric pressure had followed her back inside,
Felt the grit of garden underneath my nearly brand-new knees,
Hands face-down on corduroy shorts and pressed my face against
Overturned soil, the maternal neatness of damp earth packed tightly
Down upon the packages.
The spicy scent climbed inside the caverns of my unwitting nose,
Cool wet freedom against
My blushing face and straw-cropped hair.
And there she was, her voice at least, my eyes met her faded silhouette
Through the kitchen windows, smeared with dust.
Her pressure pressed against the glass, dishes overturning
Filthy in the sink, apron smothering her thin plaid shirt.
Another shadow joined her and I turned my face back to the dirt.
‘Let go’, I now was with the land,
She, gone inside, could sense my mirth.
Her trowel, submerged, heavy tool of toil
Had gently overturned the ground, the seeds, the pages
Which, in reading (once the plants were rich and green), would
Help convey our pardons.
and...
On nights like this
Rhythm bends my ear
The stars shoot madly
The roughened alleyways are cleared.
A conversation with the night,
Brick blizzards ahead of my
Blinded eyes- I crack my skull
Against a spray-painted wall
Dash my brains out on the sidewalk
Down the gutter
Into the sewer
To be swept away.
On nights like these
When fingers stalk
For fumbled buttons
Overcoat donned, I walk
Beneath the cries of midnight city,
The bearded men ask for my pity.
An empty wife leans out the window
Searching for the moon,
Is shocked to see my broken skull
Parading wounded to the beat.
She pulls the curtains closed
I piss against the building, laughing
Snickering. Shuddering. Sobbing.
Her eyes are sunken as she shrieks.
On nights like this
The roads are damp
The gutters creak
I curse the lighted lamps.
Stumbling forward, blind as joy,
I paw my pockets for matches
Finding none I kick the greasy curb,
Pet a stray cat, I feel its ribs.
We meow and howl, I count the cost,
The wife is asking if I’m lost.
Spitting fire from matches that aren’t there
She shuts the window, I disappear.
Above the wailing of the sirens,
I find it hard to bear the silence.
On nights like these
Eyes opened wide,
I close the door
I light a lantern, stay inside.
‘Let go’ she overturned her hand,
Palm down towards the blackened earth.
The trowel grey and heavy overturned the soil
To cover seeds, smooth white packages
Which, come spring, she said would spring forth the buds and shoots
Of all tomorrow’s gardens.
‘Let’s go’ she pocketed the hand and left the spade
Submerged in the moistness of the ground,
Grey and heavy, kissed by wet crumbs of toil.
I lingered, wouldn’t come so quick behind,
Tasted thickness of the dew, stared after her
Faded jean-pockets and sandal imprints in the earth,
My young face flushed and expression turning over.
I knelt after hearing the broken screen-door creak
And her atmospheric pressure had followed her back inside,
Felt the grit of garden underneath my nearly brand-new knees,
Hands face-down on corduroy shorts and pressed my face against
Overturned soil, the maternal neatness of damp earth packed tightly
Down upon the packages.
The spicy scent climbed inside the caverns of my unwitting nose,
Cool wet freedom against
My blushing face and straw-cropped hair.
And there she was, her voice at least, my eyes met her faded silhouette
Through the kitchen windows, smeared with dust.
Her pressure pressed against the glass, dishes overturning
Filthy in the sink, apron smothering her thin plaid shirt.
Another shadow joined her and I turned my face back to the dirt.
‘Let go’, I now was with the land,
She, gone inside, could sense my mirth.
Her trowel, submerged, heavy tool of toil
Had gently overturned the ground, the seeds, the pages
Which, in reading (once the plants were rich and green), would
Help convey our pardons.
and...
On nights like this
Rhythm bends my ear
The stars shoot madly
The roughened alleyways are cleared.
A conversation with the night,
Brick blizzards ahead of my
Blinded eyes- I crack my skull
Against a spray-painted wall
Dash my brains out on the sidewalk
Down the gutter
Into the sewer
To be swept away.
On nights like these
When fingers stalk
For fumbled buttons
Overcoat donned, I walk
Beneath the cries of midnight city,
The bearded men ask for my pity.
An empty wife leans out the window
Searching for the moon,
Is shocked to see my broken skull
Parading wounded to the beat.
She pulls the curtains closed
I piss against the building, laughing
Snickering. Shuddering. Sobbing.
Her eyes are sunken as she shrieks.
On nights like this
The roads are damp
The gutters creak
I curse the lighted lamps.
Stumbling forward, blind as joy,
I paw my pockets for matches
Finding none I kick the greasy curb,
Pet a stray cat, I feel its ribs.
We meow and howl, I count the cost,
The wife is asking if I’m lost.
Spitting fire from matches that aren’t there
She shuts the window, I disappear.
Above the wailing of the sirens,
I find it hard to bear the silence.
On nights like these
Eyes opened wide,
I close the door
I light a lantern, stay inside.