In this house, the ghosts are as common as hung laundry--
they are yellowed newspapers caught behind the lattice-work,beneath the porch.
Down a long straight hallway--the bloom at stem's tip--
a paper lily,
my collection of you, shining with rain.
A woman got in the only way I had left unguarded,
in the steam from a midnight kettle.
She wore silk from Chinese mulberry
and dismissed me as curator with softness and tongue.
She made her body a maze between me and my lily room,
a baffle for your gifted ghosts.
My desk is in the bedroom now
with an aubade on the wood, in fresh polish.
________________________
for Micro Poetry "Long Ago Rooms"
Jesus, Shay. This is brilliant. I won't say more, because: "Modesty Spoken Here."
ReplyDeleteBut oh my word:
"A woman got in the only way I had left unguarded,
in the steam from a midnight kettle."
Sheesh.
Thanks, S. I would reply, but I never know where.
ReplyDeleteYep, you've taken it to a wild level. Can poets only curate ghosts? I suspect so. The ghost of love I suspect is of a different tribe than the ghosts of lust (which, I assume, are the stuff of "yellowed newspapers" -- old news). The images leap with a wild energy and yet the tone remains calm, um, curated. Damn dem kettles.
ReplyDeleteDown a long straight hallway--the bloom at stem's tip--
ReplyDeletea paper lily,
my collection of you, shining with rain.... That is just damn gorgeous!
This entire poem is like a luxurious item one unwraps and takes out of an ornate box lined with silk.
Like most, I usually find the aubade in the windowdust; now I'll have to pay more attention to the furniture polish. My hat's off.
ReplyDeleteMusty, musky, and more,,,a beautiful, sensual, poem. :-)
ReplyDeleteClick on the "S." It'll take you there.
ReplyDeleteA woman got in the only way I had left unguarded,
ReplyDeletein the steam from a midnight kettle.
She wore silk from Chinese mulberry
and dismissed me as curator with softness and tongue.
painted faces and a bottle of wine, mama
SINUOUS
~nuff said, (apologizes sistah, you know why)
My word, you're gifted. This is one for my favorite file.
ReplyDeleteI adore the beginning - the image of hung laundry and ghosts... yellowed newspapers indicating time past... and the aubade on the wood - Our desks do become so personal to us - a morning song, a lovely memory... Sigh.
ReplyDeleteI think this is one of my favorites too. Gorgeous and delicious, Shay.
ReplyDeleteAh Shay--glad I swung by this before abandoning the internet for the day--it's a perfect thing of its kind, such as only you can write. I drew a deep breath at "..my collection of you, shining with rain..." and seem still to be hodling it--now on the exhale, I feel the ghosts.
ReplyDeleteI love the silk from Chinese mulberry so much! A beautiful read......I, too, love "my collection of you, shining with rain." Sigh. Just gorgeous.
ReplyDeleteThis is just so good. A brilliant poem in rain and yellowed newspapers. Love....not lust drives this poem, these memories.
ReplyDeleteStupendous, Shay! The opening is a poem on its own. I also adore the imagery in the lines:
ReplyDelete'Down a long straight hallway--the bloom at stem's tip--
a paper lily,
my collection of you, shining with rain'.
A good way to banish old ghosts! Gorgeous descriptions.
ReplyDeleteExhileratingly evocative!
ReplyDelete