Come on this polar expedition
they said.
It'll be fun.
You might meet someone
bring a gun
they said.
Where are they now, those golden friends
with their golden
spilt ends
and their friendship that never ends
written on a napkin
in pencil?
Oh, wire cage towel mother,
how about a hug?
How about a rug to take a nap on?
All of this pretty blue ice
seems to be getting the best of me
lo these
many years on the floe.
Oh, furious angry white bear with your
cotton-ball cubs
somebody loves you, don't they?
I could tell
as you were shredding me all to hell
that you were the white carpet type
with the correct wine
a smart address
and annual membership at the wishing well.
I'd like to be an Inuit with a movie library
here on the hard-pack.
Given six months of sunlight,
I could repair the damage from the constant calving
and get right.
I'd go home, with my raging PTSD carefully cradled
in a nest of newspapers
inside my luggage.
The airline would charge me extra to carry it
and make me jump out
after calculating
altitude and windage.
Hello dear friends, I'm back
I would say
landing hard at Cuckooville Subdivision
in a spray of
wing ice and duty-free fragrances
direct from nowhere
where your children are doing well,
your husbands are golf course gods
and you,
oh you,
pretend not to notice that I'm sliced to smithereens
hanging unfashionably upside-down
like the tongue
who once brought music
to your bell.
______
for Word Garden Word List--Where'd You Go, Bernadette?
Music: Donna Lewis Agenais
GAH! This is so awesome I cant stand it. Smiles. Love the polar bear bit especially. But the "tongue who once brought music to your bell" just slayed me. What supplements do you take? Whatever they are, I sure could use some.
ReplyDeleteI love the bravery in this poem - it feels like a journey in itself one tinged with sadness but also the beauty of colours and place..I hope there will be more comfort and tenderness - Jae
ReplyDeleteI began this poem thinking it was going to be a bit of light-hearted whimsy, the kind you write so well, but by the time I got to "...written on a napkin/in pencil.." I realized I was in for a rougher ride. The arctic metaphors clashed around me like grinding icebergs, with a wailing like the hope of spring dying in a land of constant winter. How often we have been shredded by those in a perfect white...this is a deceptively subtle and brilliant piece, Shay, and written with great intelligence and skill. The bar goes flying skyward yet again.
ReplyDeleteDarned if you didn't make a melodious ballad that I can hear Bonnie Raitt singing in a beer garden in Siberia. A world of pain carved out of ice, casual cruelty, indifference, banality. The allusions here to the absolute absence of warmth, humanity, love are piercing. I would say you nailed it, but I'd be repeating myself. Just wonderfully written as always.
ReplyDeleteYour pen is ice pick sharp and tells it like it is. This is a scathing report shot from the heart of one left out in the cold to fend for herself to the frozen heartless who seem to be living unthawed by a touch of warmth. Amazing poetry, Shay. White carpet, yikes!
ReplyDeleteWhew, I am left speechless at the progression of this tale. Most unexpected (but perfect) ending.
ReplyDeleteI don't even know where to start with what this poem speaks. How often are we left to fend for ourselves, often emotionally, and are forced to find a way to survive. And your ending hits hard, love it!
ReplyDelete"annual membership at the wishing well."
ReplyDelete"I could repair the damage from the constant calving"
"like the tongue / who once brought music / to your bell."
Amazing. HW said it best, icebergs crashing around, splintering and the lost and the damned on ice floes.
This poem stings deep for sure Shay! Certainly something written from experience as well. You really got me with that second stanza and writing in pencil on a napkin, brilliant as always!
ReplyDelete