Reanimated Lavender Granola Switchblade Nun rides again.

Thursday, January 27, 2022

Impossible Riddles

 " After last night's storm, the tulip petals are strewn across the patio where they mortally fluttered" --Church, Jim Harrison

I woke around 3am again this morning. 
Someone had been talking to me
pushing pebble words through cotton teeth, 
posing impossible riddles,
or,
I was in love with someone already vanishing,
or
something important was expected of me that I could not do.

At 7am I set out seed and peanuts
for the birds and whomever may appear,
maybe even myself, in a new body
not made of seed and feathers.
Everything hurts and I am always tired.
I am as soft and ridiculous as snow, 
holding winter's hand by instinct, leery of warmth, gray as January.

Here come the jays and starlings,
crows and cardinals,
like clockwork.
I watch them from the window and remember a day years ago.
I am both there and not,
here and not.
Dear eager raucous birds, 
will you be here again tomorrow?
Will I?
_______

for Dverse Poetics: "Songs of Unreason"




9 comments:

hedgewitch said...

Death is certainly a riddle we don't know the answer to, one we ask ourselves continually as we get further and further from the oblivion of youth, and only find anything out about when it's too late, I fear. But riddles are made to be puzzled over, as you do here with all the detritus and artifacts of the past and present turned sideways under your pen's magnifying eye. I love the quiet tone, and lines like "I am as soft and ridiculous as snow.." take this one past the commonplace and into the deep end of the heart's pool. A lovely bit of writing, Shay.

Linda Lee Lyberg said...

This was worth the wait, Shay. It's raw and beautiful and so familiar, for I am forever pondering this question-Will I be here tomorrow? The fragility of life grows deeper as we age.

Helen said...

Thus far in 2022, two lovely young women in the prime of life passed away. The daughter of a dear poet/blogger, the second a member of my extended family. Life is fragile, no matter our age. Beautiful write, dear Shay.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Yes. I am living every line of this poem. It is brilliant.

Sanaa Rizvi said...

This is incredibly stunning in its depth and emotion!

brudberg said...

This is so very existential... living in a haze of riddles and insomnia. In the grey of winter often birds are the only thing moving.

Darius the Mate said...

Potent, tender, truth telling. I can see right through the skin, down to the beauty, and fragility.

phillip woodruff (jalopy dreams) said...

lots of deep questions here, existence is a tricky substance for sure."Everything hurts and I am always tired.
I am as soft and ridiculous as snow,
holding winter's hand by instinct, leery of warmth, gray as January." i can feel that... well said

Ingrid said...

I am no stranger to being wide awake at 3am. Here's hoping we will always have the birds for company!