Posts Tagged ‘windows’

too small to be a door

too small to be a door
the window was weeds because that’s what you saw.  the window was a ship counting souls.
the window sent them on their way, north or south, obvious enough.
although some walked on into the east.  west being reserved for falling gulls.  the window each day kept some of the sun for itself.  of the moon, it gave everything.
the window is a plate for spiders who are spent.  the window keeps no book of dates, yet soup is hot, poured into a bowl just when it’s due, ready to be sipped.  here, rest your feet.  windows are the last pocket you’ll ever need.
windows are the space between walls.  try calling them by names of your ancestors.  dead is not exactly what you think it means.
windows come home Sunday eves.

neil reid © september 2013

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dead reckoning

windows don’t fuss about truth.  neither
shy amending what’s swallowed and given
up to waiting sight.  transparency isn’t that
truancy of breath as often thought.

my heart could break.  says mosaic truth
mended by winter weeds, sand on gathered
stone.  seeing you as I do.

reflection is the expected refrain.
refraction fingertips illuminate a language
native to wonderment, just so many waterfalls
rising out of rocks.  faces falling, assuming
the shape of rain.

here, here’s my single edge, moments
I can’t stand seeing anything not your face.

your body is the meal consumed.
no ill intent.  passion, simply vision insists.
just what translucency must need do.

window pronounces blue sky defines white
water clouds shimmers falls dew infused on
pearlescent lips.  what story heard depends
upon where you stand.

that’s why cats tilt their sight between autumn
leaves.  ready for the brightest slightest face
suddenly revealed.

each face so much water rolling over
rounded rocks.  turn up your pants, bare
feet splashing ahead.

coyote says, throw yourself, not knowing who
you’ll be on the other side.  maybe wilderness.

one kiss.  one face swimming bright.
landing here in my hands.

the one path of many set loose.
I call your name and the river comes.
you hear it too, and repeat.

I am here.

neil reid © december 2011


This image as a source for a poem prompt was near too rich, so many voices wanting to speak themselves. Of course I would make my choices, yet I wanted to share that process – not be neat, concise, just for that sake alone. In result there are actually several threads twisting themselves throughout this poem – what I hope (and realized) is exactly how the image appears to me, no one single understanding alone. I think that’s a kindness to the environment given here.

As well, and as previously posted, I’m wanting to allow a new poetry to be for me. Less clever, more honest (much as that seems too grand to portend). I suspect at best my writing must stumble even more than before.
Meaning I’ve not much clue what to do!

So the choices here are more raw. Not one thread, but many. What the window says and is, and something more intimate too, because that’s really how we respond – isn’t it?

Written for the We Write Poems, prompt #84, Window faces.
Please find the prompt responses of other writers here.

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