Everything about it is inflection

Standard

The following palaver ( which I think of most of my prose), provided the seed for the poem I wrote after.

I wanted to share what I usually don’t: my prose, which in this case regards the weather.

As often happens to me, I realize what I was trying to say, and put it more succinctly, in a poem.

I feel like I can “stretch out” in a poem. I get bogged down in long sentences, and semicolons, in prose.

FIRST: THE “PALAVER”:::

I am one who often gets so enmeshed in the moment, that I forget every other thing. Sometimes, when I leave a really good movie at the movie theater, I will think I’m still “on-set”. I’ll never forget seeing Dances with Wolves with a high school friend, and we came out of the theater making Indian war cries! I still felt that the moon that shone down on us was the moon that shone on Costner’s nights in front of his fire.

Because of this tendency, I am writing to answer a question my husband posed tonight. The question, “Spring—where is it?” challenges me to look beyond. I have to remember NEGATIVE THIRTY DEGREES is not the norm.

Can I believe that with April, will come weather that lightens the body and mind? Projecting out that far feels almost daring. But if one is to believe every past season; and each season passing into the next, then one must know that that “unbearable lightness of being” could, in fact, visit us again.

I am not counting the days; yet I do find that I feel currently stalled out at “COLD”. I can only hope for the happiness that more sunny, warmer days can afford.

AND NOW: THE POEM:::

I want to see clearly again.
The sun, which shines down on all,
does not affect me lately.
I feel, only, the heat
cranking out of our vents.
I feel, only, the weight of
all the clothes I wear; day,
and night.
I feel, only, a sense of
endlessness much like how
the terrain of the Arctic
stretches inhospitably, forever.

I question whether I ever had
the right to run, to wear shorts,
to freckle in the sunny sun?

I question whether God, or global
warming, will concede a change of
season: from Winter to … Spring?

I question whether I’ve fully lost my
former ability to think without complexities
weighing me down such that I
cannot make sense of my life.

I want to see clearly again.

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