Last night I remembered you into being
like rose-colored paint swirling in a water glass
from brushes dipped in street scenes and night windows.
Remember, black-eyed susans sleeping by the step,
remember, rain caught on the upturned leaves of silver maples,
recall, to no point really, the dusty lanterns on the lawn.
Last night my fingertips wandered along the lines of this poem,
looking for the place where your body moved like a brushstroke
looking for me, the way I was, the way I loved how you were.
Last night, I remembered you into being
and the moonlight on the wall made me afraid, of time
and of memory, and of these lines where they meet, like mourners.
___________
for Sunday Muse #174.
Shay--I think this is one of my favorites, which is saying something, because you bowl me over on a regular basis. This is so hauting...
ReplyDeleteThanks Sioux, for this comment and for being such a faithful reader over the years.
DeleteAnd thank YOU for not commenting on my terrible typo. ;)
DeleteThis is so cool it’s lethal Shay — wow!
ReplyDelete“Last night my fingertips wandered along the lines of this poem,
looking for the place where your body moved like a brushstroke
looking for me, the way I was, the way I loved how you were.”
Damn! 🍸
Glad you enjoyed it, Rob!
DeleteImagination is not always a girl's best friend, but here the shades drawn down into moving memory are lucent and pure, full of yearning, the all too alive ghosts that haunt us in dream and in waking. I especially liked the slow burn of this, the gradual, gliding movement toward those sweet, bitter, true final lines. No one writes of love and memory as you do, Shay. Beautiful work.
ReplyDeleteThank you, my BFF. You know it means double coming from you.
DeleteI think sometimes we have to indulge ourselves in such moments. Your poem is fluid and beautiful to read.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Ms.
DeleteShay! What you had for breakfast! Man, the way you write is just breathtaking! Loved it beyond words. So beautiful and exquisite!
ReplyDeleteThis comment made my whole day, Sunita. Thank you!
DeleteThis is such a beautiful poem for so many reasons. Some memories can be both gorgeous and haunting. The way you have captured that in this poem is absolutely amazing. I love it, and the tag " I dreamed too much last night" is a line I can certainly relate to!!
ReplyDeleteYou may thank the Electric Prunes for that tag, Carrie!
DeleteYou have such a magical way with words, spinning a delicate web to catch our fancy. It surely catches mine!
ReplyDeleteI'm glad. Thanks, Bev.
DeleteGah. This just.....slays me. Lines like mourners. I so know the feeling.
ReplyDeleteSo haunting and beautiful, what memories to have. Terrific.
ReplyDeleteWow!!!!
ReplyDeletei aspire to write in your masterful shadow
Good Sunday
much❤love
‘Last night I remembered you into being’ ~ sleep cannot come fast enough ~ your poem is enticing and intoxicating. [ thank you for the added pleasure of LC ]
ReplyDeleteShay, I bow to you my friend. This is utterly beautiful. Makes my heart ache.
ReplyDeleteAbsurdly good. Would have to quote every line. Maybe this from the sidebar: "I had too much to dream last night." Your words are drunk on dreams and dreams drinking deeply from words.
ReplyDeleteAmazing. It feels as if the lines barely contain everything you've put into them.
ReplyDeletelike rose-colored paint swirling in a water glass
ReplyDeletefrom brushes dipped in street scenes and night windows.
Would love to see the finished painting Shay! Hank finds it difficult painting a street scene in water-colour. You seem to have a penchant for it here!
Hank
There’s a beautiful mess of brown-eyes at the base of my library’s steps, so that put me right in the poem, like Dick Van Dyke’s magic chalk when standing beside Mary Poppins. :)
ReplyDelete“looking for the place where your body moved like a brushstroke
looking for me, the way I was, the way I loved how you were.”
Incredible and melty, girl. Big-time yummy swoon.
My goodness this is so beautiful Shay. I loved it from beginning to end. "Last night I remembered you into being" I so get it. There are times I want to feel what I can no longer touch.
ReplyDelete"Last night my fingertips wandered along the lines of this poem,
ReplyDeletelooking for the place where your body moved like a brushstroke
looking for me, the way I was, the way I loved how you were."
that's a rather moving stanza, i was pulled back to it multiple times. "the place where your body moved like a brushstroke". this a long look-back, heart wrenching. very well written shay.