by Brynn Dizack
the summer earth is restless:
there has not yet been a day without wind
it torments the trees,
force-exposing the underbellies of leaves;
it smiles, wickedly, and applies enough force
to show me it could push me over,
if it liked.
i fear for the porch-seedlings,
the young tomatoes, and yet
they are never torn apart.
how can their gentleness withstand this torment?
it is almost five years since you’ve gone.
in your absence i have been water,
clear and cool in small amounts, at close range,
but thick and heavy and opaque for miles, miles, down,
under impenetrable pressures and dark secrets,
tempestuous, crushing, unyielding. but,
(can we not help the ways in which we are composed?)
i am distilled to hues of incarnadine, and devastatingly liminal.
every step is two stories: what is,
and what could have been.
you made me Tiresian,
blinded by pleasure to the present and
misinterpreting vorfreude as
the gift of foresight.
and then, cast-out, abandonded, a year
wind-facing and lost, waiting for some vision to guide or overtake me.
in all my snake-slaying and gender shifting, Dust-study or
auspexical follies, i find nothing.
there is nothing to find.
buried deeper in snowdrifts than i can rescue you from,
you are not breath, or sight, or meaning.
you have only revealed my sectility.
split, i move blindly through to some similar parallel,
searching for someone who is able to take my hand.
Posted on 04/22/2017
Copyright © 2018 Brynn Dizack
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by George Hoerner on 04/23/17 at 03:00 AM|
Ah, but could I take your hand and hold till the tears left your heart. But I know with some things it takes forever and even that may not suffice. Some things we just have to live with as difficult as that can be. Take care lady.
|Posted by Rob Littler on 04/24/17 at 04:06 AM|
...the poem is almost in flight when we read the five-year mark from the speaker, the language pulls me forward in my creaky chair, and I am dead with desperation too, holding my breath in an avalanche, refusing still to succumb, gaining strength to witness the eventuality, wanting to say back to put your hands in your pockets.
|Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 07/13/17 at 11:05 AM|
Enjoyed this very much, Brynn. Lively, captivating prose...dialogue. Glad I had a chance to read it.
|Posted by Anita Mac on 07/13/17 at 07:16 PM|
I have goosebumps, little bird.