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As We Leave His Father
by Ariane ScottI can't see the road. You're asleep in
your car seat and I want to close my eyes,
transport you to bed. If I could spool
all the love I have for you into a massive
metaphysical snowball I'd swathe us inside
and hurl us from this white night before
the dashboard's clock flicks us again
into a blinder hour.
The snow shrouds the car and we're
trapped in a fairytale rewrite where truths
unfurl around veiled beds. You sleep
there a little prince while outside
your world flakes away.
Last week. You heard me crying
in the shower. You pulled back
the curtain and asked, Why are you
laughing, Mommy?
Against the wheel your clear eye
thuds in the palm of my left hand.
I kissed your fists when you were
born. They filled my face with
the fierceness that drives us
away. Someday we'll slide our key
in a moon-shaped lock and sleep
outside on summer nights. We'll build
a tree house and climb the ladder with
flashlights in our teeth and read stories
about other people's fists. Tonight
we drive away. Tonight we're steady
in a vibrant way, like moon on snow.
02/06/2007 Posted on 02/06/2007
Copyright © 2024 Ariane Scott
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 02/07/07 at 05:11 AM Beautiful, vivid, striking language and imagery from top to bottom, especially near the end. Wonderful work. |
| Posted by Angela Nuzzo on 02/07/07 at 08:36 AM Excellent, Ariane. A beautiful use of unique descriptions and images. I can "see" this in my mind as a stark painting of the moonlit snow surrounding a car full of warmth and hope. |
| Posted by Laura Doom on 02/19/07 at 12:19 AM I love to read you, especially as you're so hard to read in so many ways - except, of course, in your titles :> |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 08/26/10 at 11:45 AM this ode is captivating and powerfully delivered like a right cross to the soul. |
| Posted by Mo Couts on 06/04/11 at 02:13 AM What a lovely poem to write during a hard time. My favorite part was that your little baby thought you were laughing as you were crying; that's one of the beautiful things about children. |
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