Tuesday, June 28, 2005

Wrapped in Blue

I am a poet whose mother has died, I think,
as I eat an apple, rose splendour,
watch the clover flowers,
hosting bees and insect parades,

and move downwind from the dogshit;
glossy and shimmering with flies
that were inside on my bench
moments ago.

I roll on my back as sun
bakes my eyelids to deep crimson
and green iridescence.
A framework of fingers
shapes the sky in a flawless
envelope of blue.

I shuck off my jeans and let sun
and wind finger my skin.

This, now,
on the brink of divorce,
a poet attempting a novel,
motherless,
moneyless,

seems like the fibre filament
trapped beneath my contact lens.

Always there, whether my eyes are open
or shut,
but not enough to steal heaven
from the blue above me.

3 comments:

Michael Parker said...

Very nice. I recall with fondness the iridescent blue of the New Zealand sky and of the sea. The narrator's conflict seeks redemption in its power or in its emptiness--to not have to feel anymore. THis is the strength of your poem. Quite touching.

Michael Parker said...

IN your work, you don't refer to the sea. That's just something I recall. So when I speak of being finding refuge or redemption, I am referring to the blue sky. Sorry I made that confusing. Sorry I had to use a second post. (Is there a way to edit remarks once they have been published?)

Rae Pater said...

Thanks Michael, I understood what you meant. No, I don't think there is a way to edit comments, or if there is I haven't found it.
Oh hang on ... maybe from your dashboard?

lol, I almost sound as if I know what I'm talking about ha ha ..

You've been to NZ? Where/when/what did you think of it?