Saturday, March 7, 2020
Appearance
On a cold, gray day
I look for life in my winter garden.
Two sparrows converse
a frantic squirrel digs in flower graves
and a twig, quite resembling myself
taps, taps at the window pane.
I feel one with these threads
woven together in life's tapestry.
I yearn for naught
not pulled by past nor pushed by future.
But colors fade.
Stitches tatter.
And, bit by bit
as the story shifts
I disappear
Bridget Harwell
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2 comments:
I read this about a week ago, and these words passed through my mind again and again: "Stitches tatter." They do. I see it all around me. And somehow you writing it made me aware of how often I think, "Well, they shouldn't. My life would be easier really if they wouldn't! But they do."
Now I'm back and re-reading, and here's what else pops out: the rhythm of "taps, taps" puts me right in that spot. I noticed "graves" again and how quietly you slip that in. And the word "quite" adds something important. Not sure what it is. I can hear how It adds to the rhythm. And I think also it gives me the sense that you just now saw the resemblance.
I would change one phrase: "woven together in life's tapestry"-- because I've heard those words used that way before, while all your other images are unique.
I love "as the story shifts" -- the rhythm with "bit by bit" -- and because "shifts" seems to be the way it really goes.
Thank you. I aree with the suggestion, knew it when I wrote it.
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