Closing Time
by Patricia | 1.11.10(for my father)
Late afternoon came floating down the creek.
The Appalachia air chilled gradually;
Ringlets formed round shivers on a pool
Where mayflies burst its skin, and theirs, some trailing
Papery shells behind them in their flight.
Brown trout missiled the sylphs, arched and slapped
The surface, falling back, while I cast toward
The trembling pool, slowly wound my line in,
Looked up. He was wading toward the nearest bank
Where lilies thrust their speckled heads through mad
Tangles of grass trailing the current. I followed,
Breaking the silver ripples of his wake.
“Let’s take the path. We’ll cross again above,”
He said. I understood just where, and so
We clattered on the gravel with empty creels.
In an abandoned orchard, adolescent
Apples swelled, stone green, not yet much burden
On their boughs. We plucked wild blackberries
Dripping among thorns, filling our mouths
With fruit still warm from standing in the sun.
A stalk of goldenrod, its bud crown forming,
Jutted shoulders and head above the rest.
One of its leaves dipped lower. There, beneath it,
A butterfly hung folded for the night.
“Watch this,” I said, and putting out my hand,
Which shook, I slipped a finger through its legs
And so became its leaf. Its filaments
Shuffled for a hold upon my skin.
There it dangled, groggy-sensed, and free.
“The thing is holding me.” I thought of all
The butterflies I had kept caged
Inside my hands, beating wild against
My skin, and I, wounded, sprung those finger
Bars at blows as soft as sleeper’s breath
To watch the insects stagger, fear-drunk, to the air.
Then, left looking at my dusted fingers,
I shamed my motives and hungered by that shame.
“Here, hold.” He reached his work-etched hand.
The fumbling creature set its legs and clung,
Still, like dew. The valley’s dusk grew deeper.
We hung the insect back upon its leaf.
“Come on,” he said. “We’ve got to cross the creek.”
We crossed the creek, feeling our way through flowing
Shadows. The mountain valley dimmed, shimmered,
Its watery cleft the velvet dark of forest
Face and leafy, long reflection, light
And scaly, tremulous as wings.
January 11th, 2010 at 8:56 am
This one’s a work in progress.
January 12th, 2010 at 9:55 am
I often don’t comment on poetry because I lack the poetry technical jargon to discuss the stuff. But I know when I like something, and I like it.
It’s interesting that you’re posting works in progress, because many writers want only one version of a piece to exist. Some writers need the piece untouched by outside influences until it is fully polished. Others seek comment along the way. I tend to need a little support along the way so I send out pieces of a work for comment, so long as I like the comment I get, lol. Once in awhile I keep something close to my vest until I feel it is finished. Do you think you have always done one or the other, or changed along the way, or a mix?
Lora
January 12th, 2010 at 11:29 am
Thanks, Lora. I wish I could remember the name of this place dad that used to take us fishing.
Sometimes I prefer to keep a poem to myself ’til it’s cooked. But I’m trying to work up enough poems to fill a volume, thinking it’s about time I tried to publish a book of poems. Given my home circumstances, that’s a difficult goal. So I’ve decided here and there to put something out, hoping for a little help. I’m also going to try to write a couple new poems a month, one a week probably lying out of reach.
I don’t like the ending of this poem yet–that “tremulous as wings.” It’s too Clinton Larson-y. I’ll never get that man out of my system (at times that will be a good thing), but I’d like to dial back the overwrought image, come up with something more me-like, less him-like.
January 13th, 2010 at 6:41 pm
Hi Patricia, I could have sworn I commented on this one, it IS a work of art! I can’t believe how good it is, thanks for posting it.
January 13th, 2010 at 7:51 pm
Happy you like it, Karen. I’m thinking through another draft, which I will post when I’ve worked it up.
January 13th, 2010 at 8:12 pm
I’m starting an online poetry journal, it should be up in a month or so…would you consider letting me publish this in my first issue?
January 14th, 2010 at 8:28 am
Finishing a poem sometimes takes me a while. If it feels done anytime soon, sure, we’ll talk. Thanks for asking!