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,

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.


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?