Poet Commentaries

April 24th and 25th

April 24th

stirred sunshine
my reflection dances
a circus mirror

Throughout the day I work on silhouetting an arbour with black paint in preparation for the climbing Hydrangea to grow on it.  It is spring and sunny, people whistle as they pass and…

Magnolia buds
awaken, yawn and stretch
I stir too

I move slow, stepping around the flowers inside the arbour.  Each dip of brush is  purposed, every footfall done with care and every stroke gentle.  The drips off the end of my brush?  They are caught by my tongue and my spirit just so the Grape Hyacinths do not feel this colour so soon after bursting out of it.

the emperor’s wardrobe
taken from closet
There is the taste of black on my tongue and yet I smile. It is not so dark as all that.  Briefly I watch how each stroke glistens in the light and I wonder if there is a way to quantify how much sunlight is trapped in each of the little ruts.  I marvel at the capacity and greed of the paint to grab it all and how quickly the wood of my arbor draws this wealth in; storing it for another spring.

I grope for light
gritty fingers
find a bulb

So much is stored in this black and it takes it all. Eats it up.  Little gnats and blown dust and as many of my past recollections of joy and sorrow as I can muster. I reflect, the paint glistens and the door creaks shut on dry hinges.  Stoke and stroke.  Jamb and pack.  It will be my closet and I will look forward to it bursting open on some spring morning.  I hope I am ready it.

my closet bursts
I have no capacity
to open the door


April 25th

Some of yesterday’s thoughts blew into the paint and are unretrievable today.  Maybe next spring.

dark ink
with no whitespace between
words stored


%d bloggers like this: