Some say this the two-hundredth of January,
and are as weary of it as if it were
cold leftover meatloaf again
or their boss's face.
I shall miss it, though.
When I was 25, I saw Jim off at the train station,
his rucksack slung over a bony shoulder,
and I cried on the empty platform
not realizing until he was gone
that I loved him.
January brought heavy wet snow that made me sore with shoveling,
then it turned to ice for a while, and now slush.
My heart is forever surprised and jumps when touched,
then sags as it dies like the snow, a stuttering death that repeats itself.
I was wrecked as the melt set in,
the old familiar malaise in its favorite straight back chair.
Some say this is the two-hundredth of January,
and feel numb with it as if medicated.
I hate to see it go, as I always do, my favorite season except for Fall.
Its sharp, unsentimental freeze breaks my ease,
and I know, even as it goes,
that I love it for how it hurts me
letting me know I still can care.
_______
for What's Going On? "It's Wednesday"
Music: Mazzy Star Fade Into You
WOW! This poem speaks the cold of January, and the travails of the heart, as only you can do. I find perfect "My heart is forever surprised and jumps when touched." Mine, too, though I would never have been able to find the words to describe it. How I love the closing, "I love it for how it hurts me letting me know I still can care." A wise heart, my friend.
ReplyDelete"My heart is forever surprised and jumps when touched,
ReplyDeletethen sags as it dies like the snow, a stuttering death that repeats itself." And then there's the straight back chair. If we must have a month/season that gives us the opposites of surprising joy and when-least-expected loss, January is the right one. It never disappoints. This January, only one snow fell in Philadelphia, but we had rain and lots of gray to make up for it. Hold on to your heart--everything is in flux! Powerful images in this poem.
My goodness, Shay. This is a poem to really FEEL. Do you know why some people say it is the two-hundredth of January? Your stanza about Jim is so sad. To think that you did not realize you loved him iuntil he was gone is heartbreaking, but so often this happens in life, I think. Too late we are wise. We had heavy wet snow in January too, plus the extreme cold. It sounds like you like this season. Not me. It cannot leave quickly enough, except it means more time passing which also saddens me. So glad to see your poem, your honesty.
ReplyDeleteThe winter tale with its emptiness, heartbreak and the wreckage in the wake of it is adored for what it was is an absolute beauty. "that I love it for how it hurts me"...I love this so much.
ReplyDeleteYou really grabbed January by its lapels and shook it, Shay! I love these lines:
ReplyDelete‘My heart is forever surprised and jumps when touched,
then sags as it dies like the snow, a stuttering death that repeats itself’
and
‘Its sharp, unsentimental freeze breaks my ease,
and I know, even as it goes,
that I love it for how it hurts me
letting me know I still can care.’
Sometimes the rawness, the barren beauty, is what we need.
ReplyDeleteShay,
ReplyDeleteA poem with experiences to suit the coldness associated with January...I understand how that can linger for a lifetime, given the hurt you have carried..Hopefully you might find springtime hope..
This reads like a story, one you never want to end. I can't pick out any one line or stanza as a favorite because I love it all. And we are having meatloaf for dinner. :)
ReplyDeleteI think you captured the wanderings of the mind on a cold winter day. This part really pulls at the heartstrings. Sometimes we don't realize until it is too late that we loved... sigh..Truedessa
ReplyDeleteI cried on the empty platform
not realizing until he was gone
that I loved him.
"the old familiar malaise in its favorite straight back chair" ... That is particularly unique imagery. This is a beautiful poem that sets in deeper every time I read it. Winter is my least favorite season, but you have argued for its favor eloquently. Without a season of thought and pain, the warmth and giddy activity of other seasons mean nothing. And there are depths of love that can only be felt with loss.
ReplyDeleteI totally second all of what Shawna said! I am always more enlightened by a poem once I have read your insights, Shawna!! :-) Especially this, hot damn: "Without a season of thought and pain, the warmth and giddy activity of other seasons mean nothing."
DeleteLove how you personify January and you're certainly not alone with its affect on you. Pretty sure SAD syndrome was named after the January blues! But I love the truth in those last two lines:
ReplyDelete"that I love it for how it hurts me
letting me know I still can care."
Powerful. Aloha!
ReplyDeleteYou've managed to do something very tricky here--show deep pain, loss, yearning, scars and regrets, and all the ways they affect our perceptions, without bitterness, even with grace .I especially love the middle stanzas, and the lines others have quoted before me. Brilliant as the blinding glare off snow pack.
ReplyDelete