11
Apr
12

Spring Aubade


     Oblivion, don't melt away!
   
     Midnight sun, my horizon!
   
A stranger wearing a bright smile and warm body
creeps in to fill spaces thought cold and empty
in my bed. He brings me flowers. He sings me what
he thinks I should want to hear. His hands are warm
like he's been out back planting in simmering soil
and he chirps at me of new life and how loved I am
and tries to get me to forget winter's stormy howls.
   
He promises me. He says he's the one to believe in.
   
He acts like he brought spring in my front door,
laid it out on my bed for me to laugh and dance to
just as soon as he's done making love to me his way,
his idea, his time, his satisfaction, his springtime.
   
Was I always this easy before? I don't remember.
   
I still find it hard to focus. I am still catching up.
   
I still can touch the sharp edge of ice in my dreams.
I can breath frost into the words frozen in place
and thrill at sudden shivers that reach deep enough in.
   
Spring doesn't have his own day. His touch is not new.
   
He only slips into the bed where winter still belongs.
He only hears the poetry I'd done to recite to our dark.
His pleasure with me only comes by not knowing my smile
smiles for remembering when I'd last shared the cold
with you. 
   
            Lost in your blizzard of white oblivion.
Exchanging passes with the playful midnight sun.
In no need of spring. Wanting only another lost hour
turned back to winter's sleep with the sting of your 
fingernails in my back like an icicle's biting kiss.
   
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13 Responses to “Spring Aubade”


  1. 2012.04.11 at 5:21 pm

    Ohhhhhh. This is so beautiful.
    Are you really back? I can’t tell you what a blessing it is for me to have you in my email inbox this morning.
    My name is De Jackson, and I read your work on Robert Lee Brewer’s Poetic Asides for a long time. I subscribed to your blog…then heard you were ill…and missed you for a long, long time.

    I LOVE this:
    “A stranger wearing a bright smile and warm body
    creeps in to fill spaces thought cold and empty”

    and this:
    “I still can touch the sharp edge of ice in my dreams.
    I can breath frost into the words frozen in place
    and thrill at sudden shivers that reach deep enough in.”

    You have literally given me chills this morning.
    Thank you for your words.

    De

    • 2 sarachnid
      2012.04.11 at 6:38 pm

      Am I back?

      I don’t really know. I am awake. I am here. And I keep wanting to go back.

      That’s what this was written for. I don’t want to leave where I have been.

      I will read what I can of yours so I can try to remember. Things are taking me slow time.

      Thank you for being here.

      • 2012.04.11 at 6:42 pm

        Oh. Thank YOU for being here. This has brought thankful tears.
        Don’t go back, but do move forward. Gently, with phrase.
        I’ll be reading. With gratitude.

        • 4 sarachnid
          2012.04.11 at 6:55 pm

          Oh I remember you! You should see how I smile tears when I know I remember you.

          I’ve been hearing your poems read to me. My friend David has reading to me those I had listed in my blogroll. He tells me I must have known back then who I would need now the most. I still can’t remember enough to know if he’s right, but I recognize you from what he’s been reading to me.

          • 2012.04.11 at 7:05 pm

            That makes my heart so happy. My own heart remembers your words, and so well. They flowed from your poem this morning, straight to my center. I cannot tell you what it’s meant to me today. I’m so thankful.

  2. 2012.04.12 at 12:25 pm

    Delightfully delicate aubaude, taking spring as your morning and winter as your lover leaving your bed vacant to another who thinks to belong, especially heart-wrenching for how you are using this to reflect truthfully on your feelings for where you have been and where you now are. I love this poem!

    I’m one of your newer readers, having been introduced to your poems while you were away, and having read not only all of the ones you have posted here, but every other one I’ve been able to find at the Brewer site. Consider me an avid reader of your words, and very happy to have this new poem from you.

    Be well, and I hope we will be seeing more of your writing!

    • 7 sarachnid
      2012.04.13 at 2:35 pm

      Thank you. I have started reading yours, and I notice that Maggie is one of your readers and friends. She is a very close friend of mine, and I wake to find she’s now my sister! I never wrote how she does and I doubt I ever will come even close anymore, but I do hope I can give you something more to read here soon.

  3. 2012.04.12 at 3:43 pm

    My close friend, my sister, my love, it’s so deeply moving in all the best ways to have you back here.

    Together with the aubade that you had last posted, this poem speaks to us of an intensely loving night that this has been for you, so it is definitely understandable that you might want to hit the snooze button on that alarm another hour or more. But I do believe that in David, in the little niece you’ll soon hold, in your dear friends both there and here, and in your own bright soul and heart, you will find that you’ve not lost that night’s hour, rather carry it into this new day with a love and a life that will find you as strong and fresh as ever.

    Don’t feel you need to rush, though, just on account of how hungry we all are for your song. Be patient with yourself. We’ll be here for you, always.

  4. 2012.04.12 at 7:48 pm

    Welcome home!

    I don’t think you ever knew me before or even recently by the screen name I’m most commonly known by, but I’m the friend who was helping out with the mathematics that your friend Maggie had asked me to look over for you. (Actually, you and I met several times years ago, but I don’t expect you would remember that.) It’s so good to see you writing again!

    I won’t try to prove it to you, but I know firsthand that feeling you’re feeling, like you’re not coming home but rather have lost home and can’t get it back except to return to where you have just emerged from. Know that you’re not alone. Not because I or anyone else says so, but know it inside, in those deepest feelings you are touching, even in those feelings that call you back to the stormy crashing void you felt so fit in. That’s not just something I felt for myself and that others who have been there have felt and maybe not the same for you, no, it’s how it is, and you can find that for yourself: that you are not alone.

    David would prove that, no strings attached, nothing you owe him for being there for you, just that you’ll never be without him there for you, believing in you. Every other friend you have here would prove it just as readily. And there are others you will be able to see ahead when you look to see. Know that you are not alone, and the recovery you are going through will be a good one for you. Most sincerely and joyously, welcome home.

    • 11 sarachnid
      2012.04.13 at 2:48 pm

      I apologize for my memory lapses. I mean no offense. I will confess that you have been difficult for me to remember from before, and I might never be able to retrieve those recollections well enough.

      But you are my math man! I am happy that Maggie got me your help. The stuff I was doing on that was a strange memory. I had to re-learn it all by reading back over my own notes and having David explain things to me, but inside me it felt like something I was born with. Your help on the math parts has been very useful. I need some hand holding on the parts you wrote about orthogonality in the sets. Most of the rest of it I think I get.

      David especially, and Maggie and my brother especially, they feel close enough to be part of me. And I know I would not be back where I am now without them being here. There is still an aloneness that keeps making me want to go back. You’ve felt that?


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