but nothing to wrap them around--
I was a weaver bird with the instinct to build, but not the flock memory.
Now I am old, and still have the words,
but find that I have said most of what I needed to say.
I no longer bleed as much, nor yearn so hard. The seasons change by themselves.
In the middle of this oddly mild mid-winter,
I set out, by myself this time.
My favorite dogs are gone, but I have this new one, and she wanted to come along.
I wore new boots with purple laces
and a stick I've grown attached to, and sometimes really need.
The sun stayed low but bright while we walked, and time turned easy and slow.
I didn't know, when we set out,
how much I would love that walk and the cold air in my lungs.
I called to my friend; she came back from the trees and we turned back.
Now I hate to have left that walk behind--
taking off my boots inside the door, I wonder when I can wear them again,
but somehow, aches are assuaged, and there is sometimes balm
for all the things we lack.
_______
this touched my heart. thank you.
ReplyDeleteOh my goodness. The line "I was a weaver bird with the instinct to build, but not the flock memory" is just breathtaking. And then that beautiful walk of reverie and coming home to "there is sometimes balm for all the things we lack." How I resonate with the feeling in this poem. You blow me away with your always unexpected reach - like the weaver bird with no flock memory...........and your unique way of saying things more perfectly than anyone, that go straight to the heart. Wow. I feel like I took that walk with you and Ms Skittles. And I love your purple laces.
ReplyDeleteShay. This is so beautiful. Boots with purple laces say everything I need to know about your personality. That and the fact that your poetry is so powerful that you used to use it to change the seasons.
ReplyDeleteI'm especially moved by the second half, beginning with "the sun stays low but bright." I think that's how some of us have to make our way through life. Maintaining our intellect, but keeping our heads down.
Shay--You never cease to amaze me. I might see a snippet of your poem on my blog's sidebar, I see the title, and wonder "Will I like this one? I mean, a 'weaver bird'--WTF is that?"
ReplyDeleteBut then I read it, and I can't breathe. It's that gorgeous. And sweet. And wistful.
As Gomer Pyle used to say, for shame, for shame, for shame.
I love this one:)
ReplyDeleteyou touch many with your resonating words inspirationally transcribed into song
ReplyDeleteA poem filled with the serenity of living in a perfect moment.
ReplyDeletePS. I have weaver birds in my garden.
ReplyDelete:-)
This brims with refreshment and repose. Beyond beautiful.
ReplyDeleteMany leveled write, and ultimately, a walk with your pup in a space of your choice, is the best way to clear the mind.
ReplyDeleteThere is wisdom and tenderness here. Beautiful - Mosk
ReplyDeleteOh I want to be that woman. Don't know if it was a woman, but in my mind she's a woman and I am her. That walk! The magic of it. The way in which we settle into ourselves and the world around us! Yes yes and yes! Another beautiful work Shay!
ReplyDeleteThe very matter of fact quality of this seems to make it more luminous, somehow--like you can look at something or someone you love and see it again for the first time. This is full of comfort and peace, Shay.
ReplyDeleteThis brought me peace.
ReplyDelete"When I was young, I had the words but nothing to wrap them around"
ReplyDeleteGawd!!!! How do you do that!?!?! Gorgeous.
More please.
xo jj
makes me want to walk now, even in the dark. with a stick. (my younger son made me a walking stick a year ago christmas - whittled and sanded, with a leather grip.) ~
ReplyDelete