I have not come to lay the dust.
Oh, there is a sorrow for that,
Cracked like the horizon's fire
Running through park and tundra,
Memories of bones I'll squeeze
Bright against my marrow.
I have not come to press thorns
Through my palms or forehead,
Angels in the smoke blown out
Of life running through the blood
Marking me with those stories
Smelling of dead bonfires.
I have not come to remember.
I have come to breathe
Your past deep and release
The sweet, ashy exhale
Of our future.
So there are probably less melodramatic times to sit down to write a poem...but there is literally a Southern Gothic sky out there right now, the damp grass is practically warm as bathwater, and a haze of dust has draped itself over us like the concrete to which we're addicted in the puddled suburbs along the highway out of the City Itself. And the heat. And the creeping panic. And the stay-at-home orders competing with the mad laughter of those who are aggressively free. And the heat. And the concrete sky...
So, yeah. Melodrama it is, folks. Which means that I'm looking forward to all the ways this will be interpreted and set to words across The Sunday Muse this week and all the ways in which Poets and Storytellers will see the world differently so that I can change keys as another week becomes this present and I crawl closer to finishing? Drafting another section of? In Thornish, wringing out the melodrama before it becomes part of the story. *gasp!* *sigh* *evil chuckle*
Hope you're having a good week!
-- Chrissa
I like "there is a sorrow for that", as though you had them lined up in clay pots on a high shelf, ready when needed: melancholy, heartbreak, wistfulness, yearning.
ReplyDeleteBut beautifully melodramatic. Great words.
ReplyDeleteSimply gorgeous in every way, and that closing line is full of thoughts that will linger with me into tomorrow. Another brilliant poem Chrissa, as always.
ReplyDeleteLet us have hope for the sweet ashy future.
ReplyDeleteIt's a tossup for me ... the notes or the poetry. Both are out of this world stellar. Hang in there.
ReplyDelete"Oh, there is a sorrow for that,
ReplyDeleteCracked like the horizon's fire"
I understand and resonate with this, now. As there is sadness in my family because of death of my mother in law
A blessed Sunday to you
Much💖love
Sending much love to you as well, especially now.
DeleteI am struck here by how well you use your 'melodrama," to shine a light through the haze of all the roil and boil we inhabit at the moment, and your poem echoes eerily bits of my own(I assure you I never read *anyone* else's poem before I write to a prompt) which resonate. I especially love "...Angels in the smoke blown out/Of life running through the blood/Marking me with those stories/Smelling of dead bonfires." You've caught in this web of words and image all the angst, all the yearning for resolution, and the old child's wish to still somehow find a happy ending in what is increasingly feeling like a casino game of chance. Thanks for this photo to work from, and for your own insightful interpretation of it. A pleasure to read.
ReplyDeleteOh, so good. The language all throughout is amazing. Beautifully done.
ReplyDeleteBreathing rather than merely remembering---there's wisdom in that.
ReplyDeleteI really like the closing, the mixture of terrible (there was a fire) and wonder (the speaker is still breathing and some of it is sweet).
ReplyDeleteAnd melodrama seems to be in fashion. So, we might as well wear it a bit (even a lot).
bones squeezed bright against your marrow really struck me.
ReplyDeleteYou had me at the first two lines. I read about the Sahara dust plume. I hope you can stay inside and breathe a bit easier.
ReplyDeleteps - Thanks for hosting.
DeleteI rather like this melodrama and the way it apologetically leaps towards change, even when it seems to come with a tinge of an apocalypse.
ReplyDeleteThis is beyond beautiful, Chrissa!!💝 I love; "I have come to breathe/Your past deep and release/The sweet, ashy exhale of our future."💝
ReplyDeleteHa, I was going to pick the same lines as Sanaa. But in fact it's all beautiful, in wonderful language – and full of that heightened melodrama!
ReplyDeleteBrilliant lines in this mesmerizing poem. And, as usual, I very much enjoyed reading your notes. Wonderful writing from start to finish.
ReplyDeletePowerful and amazing poem I especially love the last stanza
ReplyDeleteBones against the marrow... thorns
ReplyDeleteThrough my palms or forehead...beautifully penned.
i love how you builded your poem through the first and second stanzas and then ending with a third revealing stanza that is telling. great write!
ReplyDeleteI journeyed through a range of emotions reading this. There are so many lines to love I can't post all of them. Love how you ended it.
ReplyDeleteI don't sense melodrama as much as I sense defiance. You have come.. to stand and to be counted.
ReplyDeleteLots of not come for but there is a little something left still worth the coming. Nice write, Chrissa, we will make the most of what we have.
ReplyDelete..
Linda, I am sorry to hear of your cancer troubles. I have a long unwritten list of blogger prayer needs, I will pray for a complete recovery for you along with the doctors and your support group. God bless you.
ReplyDeleteI was wondering where this poem was going, now I "see" your feelings. If it weren't for good doctors and modern medicine I would be dead but I have not experienced cancer as of yet. It will be tough.
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Although I am not religious, I thought it seemed like Jesus was coming without thorns or blood to release a brighter future.
ReplyDelete