#12 decembrance 2019

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The sky held the faintest glow of pink and orange and the bare trees were green darkness against the sky. When I am out walking at dusk I stay off the roads behind a fence where I often get a good view of cows on the neighboring hillside. Their hulking angular mass silhouetted against the glowing sky makes me wonder what would Rembrandt make of these dark forms. Back home--email done and phone calls answered--I stepped out on the porch to get the moon view and remembered an old drawing I made of Zoe as a toddler cupped in my hand stepping out across the pond and into the rising moon. The memory of the view before the trees grew is stuck like glue on my soul, the childhood images of my daughter struggling to pull free are tied to that drawing and the moon is my window into another time.

12 winter 2019.jpg
It is said, the past
sticks to the present

like glue,
that we are flies

struggling to pull free
It is said, someone

cannot change
the clothes

in which
their soul

was born.
I, however,

would not
go so far

Nor am I Rembrandt,
master of the black

and green darkness,
the hawk's plumes

as it shrieks
down from the sky

Russian Letter
by John Yau in Borrowed Love Poems

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This page contains a single entry by Catherine White published on December 12, 2019 6:32 PM.

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