Friday, October 9, 2009

First Snow

This Unfolding

A poem by Dorothy Walters

I am thinking how it
will all go down with
All the agonies, griefs,
the tears you fed
your sorrows,
the nights of love
that lasted
until morning,
the prize you almost
held in your hand
that went to someone else,
the guilt
you never told,
the moments on
the mountain tops
where the brightness
the trees,
the cold brush
of the river
against your
that fall
when you took
the dare.

will accompany
where you are going,
until it dissolves
like fog
the heaving shore,
like dew
morning sun.

And you too will
into whatever is
a nothingness
that doesn't remember
what it was
that brought it
so much joy
so much pain.

Yet sometimes you will catch
faint glimpses
of that
which used to be
and stare
in wonder
at so much felicity
from so little,
so much suffering
from almost nothing
at all.

And you will ponder
the meaning
of this lost unfolding
even as you prepare
to descend
once more.


Sherri said...

My God, that's beautiful. My heart is in my throat.

Angela said...

Mine too. :) When are you coming to visit!!

Mary LA said...


Cindy said...

Beautiful. Here is something to remind you of home--


The deep summer night envelops me like a costly cloak of billowing satin.
A chorus of night creatures hums a medley against whirring air conditioners and milling cars.

One stray mosquito, having escaped the city�s sprays, flutters by me on its bloody quest.
Silence, in the city�s sounds and in the heavy air stirring slowly through its streets.
Silence, in the humid heat that is shuttled and spun �round by a lazy ocean breeze-
A southern breeze that waltzes amongst old warehouses and antique shops and
columned mansions-

That runs amongst shrimp boat riggings and wooden piers and gabled roofs

and a thousand open verandahs!

Above it all floats a few wispy clouds, tendrils of gray life that strut across the darkness.
A sprinkling of stars sparkle against the velvet black sky and dirty cotton clouds

and rosy city glow.

A pine tree rears its spiny leaves, its sturdy posture a stalwart silhouette.
A couple strolls nearby, their shadows chasing each other across pools of light

Above it all sings a single chime-
The courthouse clock tall and regal and three hundred years old.
Still it chimes the hours, its cheerful notes cascading through the sultry air-
The sweet southern air that slowly, ever so slowly, lulls me into slumber.

Angela said...

Thanks, Cindy. It's beautiful and it does remind me of home!