I continue to post my new poetry at La Parola Vivace… and on my She Writes blog— two new decent poems up…
I loved someone who is suddenly gone, turned into a block of ice, something colder and harder than stone. Now, great absence, in the deeps of the night.
Accordingly, I had a terrible dream this afternoon; I was trying to save a deformed puppy, holding it high over my head, and accidentally wandered into deep ice-choked water. I tried to wake up and then I said in the dream, I will have to drown. And I did; a vivid sensation of running out of air.
Then at the edge of sleep arms pulled me out and I was on shore and still had that small neonate animal curled against my chest. Who was that? Were those my own arms or the arms of others?
It’s cold in here; tess snoring in her crate. I brought the last of the cheeseburgers from the house and am about to warm it with its bun. My leg is very swollen from where the dogs slammed into it last week. I’m still afraid to get it fixed, afraid of being sliced into again, not waking up, not overcoming the whole thing and being wheelchair bound the rest of my life when at least I can drag myself around in my walker…
We adapt. You cut off a bird’s wing and it adapts…before it’s eaten.
I’ve written two poems today– one is up at She Writes on the blog– Torchsong 2011– inspired by a gorgeous jazz piece we heard last night that sent me spiralling into my old wistfulness for that meal I cannot provide for myself at this time.
The other poem is up at Parola Vivace, my blogger blog– For a Poet Lost in the Ruins of Grief– thought I was writing it for Tess Gallagher but perhaps to me.
Why is it that for the narcissistic writer it is forever all about the “me”– the “I”… when things go wrong with people close to me I am vulnerable to losing it and using, I think because I’ve always blamed myself first. Holding my ground tonight but weary of all the trouble.
Kalocsahazi in Hungary has a new and gorgeous litter. If I ever buy another Golden it will be from that kennel if they still exist. It only costs 2k to import one of their stunning and sweet dogs as opposed to supporting one of the big commercial puppy mills that exploits the pedigrees of the hard-working breeders of Europe. Here is a grown puppy from the same breeding as the current litter– gorgeous.
If I could turn back the clock… I would get a foal that looks like this:
In which case, as this is the ancient town of Scylla on the toe of Italy’s boot, I would probably have to confine myself to:
…and if I lived in Scylla I would get to see these all of the time…
And I would get to live out my decline with a view like this– the Strait of Messina:
Laurie Blair said:
I’m thinking they were your arms, but I’m pretty sure I was one of the people who had you by the back of your collar.
thank you for this valentine, my sweeting; it means the world. Hearts to you…xxxj
cathy kozak said:
Your Torch 2011 poem is intoxicating Jenne’.