the rose vine – “Bronze Sunrise”

“Bronze Sunrise”

Light permeates the room through the blinds on my bedroom window.

Warmth kisses my skin for the first time in what feels like months.

Though I am still exhausted something feels different today.

The weights placed on my body now lifted, though my bones

still ache from the ghost of their presence.

 

I sit up in bed, a seemingly simple task transformed

from impossible to merely extremely difficult.

Minute steps forward after weeks of falling back

seem odd to celebrate, but I need a victory.

They clap from the stands when the injured limps off the field.

1/7

We have lemony crystals jumping out of packets 

Dancing to the sound of stirring on round walls 

Music floating from flooded basements 

From the boxes filled with ornaments and Christmas garland 

We have laminate smacking to the beat of stomping feet 

Guided onward by speakered music 

Permeated by the stench of collard greens 

And cinnamon rolls in the morning 

Apple cider and steeped tea at night

As we laugh at Big Bang theory 

The Poetry Corner – 24 March 2021

[To read an introduction to this column, please see the first paragraph of the initial post here]

 

This week’s post is a little different from the last few. Featured is one of my favorite poems that for some reason embedded itself in my mind and has never left. I wrote a short essay analyzing the poem, and by sharing it I hope to give a small taste of how poems can work, even really short ones like this one. I hope you enjoy it!

 

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Practice Wing

In channels of white walls

Lined for miles with brown doors

I saw a boy

Painting his song on black and white keys

He didn’t sense the sensation I felt

That brought me to this poem

 

His teacher stood behind him

Their skin creating a waxing crescent

Turned 90 degrees

I wonder how far he’ll go

If his dreams will unfold

To the sound

 

In porous practice rooms

Where proofing only masks sunlight.

I wonder if he’ll find joy

In worshipping white forefathers

Tolerating white foremothers

And giving his ancestors specialty concerts

 

The Poetry Snapshot: To Feel Safe

Boulder, Colorado

A trailhead welcomes you
like open doors at night.
Evergreen branches reach out
to hold you tight.
Foot steps sink into the piercing snow;
your fears melt away
as you glide down the Meadow.
Listening to whispered sighs of relief
as you stand between the trees,
you think about your overwhelm not too long ago.

Mountains stand tall;
a pedestal for the sky.
Gusts of wind rock the car;
a frightful lullaby.
This canvas is painted with shades of white.
Earth is tainted by my headlights.
Constantly changing, nature rearranging.

To feel safe without four walls is bliss.
Protected by a twinkling night star kiss.
City lights do not shine down here,
but somehow you trust the abyss.

Warm cups of sunrises to sip on
and 5 soft smiles at the break of dawn,
I slowly start to reminisce.