Tag Archives: poem

Tonight I Took a Walk in the Dark…

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Tonight I took a walk in the dark
Unstrapped the bubble of light from my head and descended
Feet first to the curb
And by turns constrained and compelled by the wind
Whispered my winding way in the dark.
And I saw the light a life emits:
Flashing digital blue
Licking red flickers
Slow orange warm glow
Encased within the glass bay windows of a city.
And tiny I
In the space between
An out of body spirit
Blown away, blown toward
Home
The light.

As I Watched the Fire…

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It was a crazy weekend. We bought the last of the furniture, which means my apartment now smells like Swedish pine and lingonberry.

After a month of sleeping on the floor, my son got his bunk bed and after a year and a half in boxes I got a little cabinet for all my art supplies. Thus, the weekend was full of detailing the growing list of bunk bed rules and unpacking beautiful things.

I opened the box of all the sketchbooks I’ve had since junior high. I took out the files containing my years of illustrations for the Sunday school curriculum and the children’s reader I did. And I discovered the stack of poems I wrote in the year after my Dad died.

I don’t write much poetry, but I get on kicks. I enjoy their density. I find I use them when my feelings are most compact and undefinable, much like those little foam creatures confined to capsules and awaiting bath time.

In this analogy, poetry would be the warm bath that releases you, opens you up and details your edges.

So, here is a dense little piece I had forgotten about. It reminds me well of that seeming interminable time. If you’ve ever experienced sorrow, I’m sure you will understand.

“As I Watched the Fire”

Oh! If I had a power tonight it would be this,
To send out my sorrow into the flames,
To lick and burn some other chimney,
Save my throat,
To consume some other material,
Save my spirit.
Then, I would watch it burn down to its predictable end,
To finish and be done, once and for all,
Left cold after its long hot work.
And all the concentrated efforts of my sorrow’s journey,
Would be accomplished in one short evening,
As I watched the fire.