There was a woman in love with fog
and the harbor knew her name.
Su of the basket heart,
Su of the darning needle nights.
Su out of breath, or holding it, just the same.
When you're a woman at odds with time,
every second slows the heartbeat.
Woman of the breakwater bones.
Woman in the crowd, alone.
Woman who folds her heart, folds the dough, folds the sheet.
There was a woman in love with fog
and the harbor knew her name.
_______
for The Sunday Muse #198.
Part of the following song says (In Spanish):
Because after this life
There is no other opportunity
How much love arrives like this, it arrives like this
This is BEAUTIFUL. I can feel the woman she was in your words and she is glorious.
ReplyDeleteWell, I won't quote it all back to you, though I easily could. You have drawn a sepia image of a woman too intense to be captured in ordinary words, so archetypal she is almost more symbol than person--and yet, she breathes, however short her breath is, and the fog makes her a perfect dress. Stunningly good, Shay.
ReplyDeleteI have fallen in love with yet another of your lovely poems Shay!I love the flow and how it folds back in to the amazing opening line. This poem is like a wise man that says no more than one needs to know. One of your finest!!
ReplyDeleteShay I love love this. This evening I know for certain you are not watching the Big game ~~ lots of time to be at your creative best. I am in awe.
ReplyDeleteThanks Helen, I'd rather be writing! ;-)
DeleteI like this woman, she is the kind I'd like to have been. I'm goofy, hard tell what or who I'd be in love with. It would be a surprise I know that, but probably not the fog. Maybe, . . . , reincarnation?
ReplyDelete..
That is every synonym of amazing and beautiful.
ReplyDelete