Friday, March 6, 2009

Dream



It was only a dream.

I'd only gotten up to forget the sad blackbirds who were eating cornbread from your hand

Deep in the royal-colored folds

Of our last night together.


I was only looking out at the roof tops

Through the French doors

Where you liked to sit and smoke.

You woke to the sound of wings like tea leaves--

Love, what was it you saw, there in the dark?


Did you care that my skin was pale,

Or that my little silver watch had stopped telling the time

In the moment before you spoke?

Wouldn't either one have brought the rain,

And the soft click of the closing door?


You asked me to bring you

A glass of water and a rose...

But I ended up barefoot on the cool bricks of the courtyard,

Holding a little judas tree in my hands

As if it were our child.


The blackbirds were dying;

Their wings spreading helplessly into the shape of your lips

--sweet as faith--

--warm as cornbread from a pan--

Even to the moment they began to part.

________

11 comments:

Esa extraña costumbre said...

Beautiful poem! Very nice blog

Scarlet said...

A last night together...is always remembered clearly...even in dreams.

Beautiful poem, Shay.

Mama Zen said...

Oh, wow. I can picture the blackbird's wings. That last stanza is too lovely.

T said...

Very beautiful!

Riot Kitty said...

Ohhhhhhh, sad!

Shadow said...

this completely enraptured me today

... Paige said...

Very nice...
You woke to the sound of wings like tea leaves...

And the soft click of the closing door?
...
I guess I'm in a "sound" mood today. I have been sitting here listening to the clocks and birds and humming cieling fan trying to tun each one in and then back out again.

Daryl said...

I am re-reading it to hold the visuals those words evoke.

Is your header photo from somewhere along River Walk in San Antonio?

Pouty Lips said...

"Did you care that my skin was pale,
Or that my little silver watch had stopped telling the time
In the moment before you spoke?"

I about stopped breathing when I read these words. Parting is not sweet sorrow, sorry William S, he got it wrong that one time in my opinion.

Fireblossom said...

Gracias, Florence, and welcome to the Word Garden!

Thank you, Scar, as always. :-)

My friend and fellow poet Kelly Dickson is always telling me I am a visual person. I just saw that in my mind, the shape of the wings. Thanks, Mama Zen, you're a peach.

Thank you, T! Pet those critters for me, won't you? :-)

Yep, RK. :-/

I can't think of a nicer compliment than to hear that from another poet, Shadow. Thank you.

Paige, I just thought that since much of the poem takes place in semi-darkness, sound should be a strong part of the poem. Have a nice weekend!

Daryl, I always love it if someone says they re-read one of my poems. And yes, that's the San Antonio riverwalk. I took the photograph from street level.

I agree, Pouty. New love is the best drug there is, and losing love hurrrrts. Aren't i profound today? But it's true.

Jannie Funster said...

This, this, this.....

This has stopped time on all the clock in Paris and a certain dark alley in Vienna I will probably never visit.