Saturday, December 17, 2011

Far From It

Every morning I tie
a capelet of sorrow
around my neck,
letting the velvet
plush, as dense as
a cattail’s, weigh down
my shoulders,
my glance~~
even now,
when Grandmother fluffs
her feather bed,
and the ground hugs
a comforter of white.

I measure time in bowls
of tea,
like Goldilocks testing
her tongue:
Too Hot!  Too Cold!

And each night
I fold paper cranes
into my sleeves,
bright and jagged
as the sorrel
and frisée,
still green
in the snow.


  1. This imagery is just exquisite, MJ, even if sorrowful, the language so lovely. I hope you will have a beautiful Christmas weekend.

  2. Getting the grief that far out into a fairy tale I think wraps the thorns up enough. The third stanza lets us know that there's hope enough to still dare. - Brendan

  3. brendan and ruth have responded perfectly.

    i find the naming of Grandmother as strong and definitive. only doing this, writing Grandmother gives character and place to the narrator. this is very interesting to me.

    LOVE the last stanza. love it. this narrator is defiant in the face of sorrow, privately so, but none the less.


  4. ah I love "I measure time in bowls
    of tea," - how brilliantly put! and original - enjoyed this lots, cheers !

  5. Just stunning, so many of these pieces that I have never read, that I didn't know about til now. Thank you, and thanks to the others for describing so well what you do so exquisitely.