Fire and Water
Well then imagine the delight
A celebration of their leaving
A real washing gladness
Fluttering wings to spray water there
Unsought, unbidden, unforced
The rightness of their leaving
To overcome the changes,
how the glow highlights a cheek.
All these years
the beach-tired kids pile rocks in a ring
I marshal scant stores of optimism
Under the hawthorn tree
amid spaded greenery
a real washing gladness
unsought, unbidden, unforced.
There, in the bowl, a celebration of light,
a robin! Dusty grey wings
underslung by its carroty-rust breast
The ancient sway of the elements.
Wood lath strapping criss-
crossed. I leave,
to flick off flood lamp, retreating.
The fire takes.
Ageless hypnotic source
softening ribcage, relaxed gaze,
setting down of worry
communal, together by fire
mammals through and through
on the verge of everything.
The seated shadowed young, facing
a crackle. More crackles.
Retreating. I did not expect
to be taken up
ever so needed as it happened
soon to be gone.
Busy but not busy enough
To drive up. His list: clip-on fan,
shower tote. An invitation
to the ancient sway of the elements.
I don’t try to read their expressions
all the things I’ve wanted to do
a place hung together by tired kids
a setting down of worry – remind
me – ascendancy to the deeper
ageless fire, softening of ribcage
evenings and the briny refreshment
The driveway, the shoes in the bin
boy/manhood that over spills
water on a sunny day
on a whim in the front garden
the large glass bowl
its delight flapping,
unsought, as it happened
Scant stores of resolve. Remind me
please. The fire takes. Mammals
through and through
Grass scraped from the center
Kids pile rocks in a ring
The fire takes
Cerebral connections lose to
the deeper sway of the elements.
I don’t try to read their relaxed
gaze. The fire crackles,
highlights a cheek, a place,
a chair appears. His list: a clip-on fan,
A shower tote.
Hunks of citrine and rose quartz
for his new life
cause me to trip
well then imagine the delight
a real washing gladness
unsought, unbidden, unforced
to drive up the next morning and see
boy/manhood wings
signature breast, fluttering wings
The rightness of their leaving
The quiet that will follow
Under the hawthorn
amid the long-spaded greenery
A deduction in other words
dropped, to be taken up, imagine!
An invitation to all the things
I’ve wanted to do –
flick off the flood lamps
setting down of worry
together by fire.
Along the side, he gathers his
things.
A shower tote, a hunk of citrine.
Trip. Worry. Chant. Overcome
the changes fluttering wings
the quiet that will follow
criss-crossed scraped shadowed
unforced red-knotted beads
count them, remind me please, all
the things I’ve wanted to do?
As if the nervous system
ever so needed, a washing gladness
I marshal a wiggle of fire, peer
out the glass, how the glow
highlights a cheek plane
Ascendancy. Their being on
the verge of everything.
While it’s true that Toy Story Three will make a parent on the edge of the empty nest cry, I took some satisfaction when this unpolished response to a prompt made someone in my writing circle cry.
Where does the time go? Snapping pictures as I am out and about helps me remember. Sometimes I am shocked at all the places I’ve been.
I love my quarter acre with its shaded perennial beds outside and light filtered through antique glass on the inside. But lately the impulse to post images from beyond this little yard has become stronger. Not so much to answer my question, “where has the time gone” as to expand my visual vocabulary.
Perhaps even to rearrange my sense of what’s beautiful.
A provocative and inspiring post over at Grace’s windthread blog, in part, promoted my taking this step more consciously. That post is here and it includes her usual delicious mix of observation, reporting, and wisdom. A comment Maggie made a little bit ago (about me and my quarter acre… ) is also influencing me here.
Here’s to the beauty of parking lots, tar squiggles, overpasses, stapled electrical wire, dashboards, and guardrails.
