It’s almost the new year. 2013 will soon stumble in, badly shaken by the final events of 2012. It’s a time for wondering if it’s worth it, if the patterns are doomed to continue. If there’s a chance for change. And yet, despite the poor outlook, hope creeps in, insinuates itself somewhere in our hearts or minds, and begins to germinate. We have no reason, after the urgent optimism of youth, to be hopeful, and yet we persist. Who can explain it. But let us never stop rejoicing in it.
Woken
Cusp of morning,
a few birds
launch their eager
arguments at the dark.
Beyond my window
a 747 drones across the sky
laying a vaporous stripe
on the night’s dense asphalt.
What was it woke me
—birds? plane?
the heat
of remembered fires
raked hot again
in dream
Or the hiss and whistled sigh
of life embering?
I toss in the tangled arms
of a new day
feeling it stir, pull me
with its fresh enticements.
Hope, that ravishing drug,
works through my veins,
speeds my pulse
even as this body fails
and words fall away.
Outside, other sounds:
paper waking stoop
with its urgent slap
and, somewhere in the distance,
a persistent music.
Very nice, Deidra. It’s been a season of uncertainty and restless sleep: I’ve been feeling it myself, though without the hope. (I know that finishing a poem – it’s on my blog now – started long ago probably contributed to it.) Nevertheless, I am glad that YOU have it. (To me, 2013 is a faceless man in a shabby suit pacing the porch and dragging the last inch of a cigarette before pulling open the screen-door to bring his news. Your job: replace that image!)
This is lovely and indeed hopeful. I like the way the sentences move across the lines and stanzas.
Thx deidra Nice poem Happy new year Regards Alyson
Sent from my iPhone