A season can embrace more than its kind.
Like a lollygagging drove of doves
Above the L line, momentum
Is split the way kindred multiply—
Scheme eschewed but with all tremor in mind.
I swear that niche between May and September
Contains more spirit, more flakes of a year’s
Sky than old age’s adolescence or dusk-
Knit dialogues in Brooklyn time.
And we—for a spell—lived like tears.
All manner of spilling and streaming and salty sin
Allowed within the beautiful ruse that binds:
Youth is undying, friendship fixed
And no matter which slack damn word we don’t say,
Everything is communion with a hint of the sanctified.
Holy are the rooftops on which Summer,
Winter, Spring and Fall sit
Splaying their courses over one humdrum meal.
Handfuls, armfuls, mouthfuls of anecdotes
Quivering with casual “Thanks” that plumb
The binary stares of the quarry
Of friendship. That was what I got
Each time I walked through the door
One summer on Willoughby
When grace wasn’t a chore.
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3 comments:
Wow. You make every word of this one sing. Good job.
love,
luke
Kristen, I love your beautiful poetry/soul. It digs deep and sings in a way that makes me feel like I'm sitting at The Canal Street Tavern listening to an acoustic set of Over The Rhine. Do you know Over The Rhine? Their lyrics are rich and she has a classy crooners voice. That's where this poem takes me.
"Everything is communion with a hint of the sanctified." --I love this line. You know I love this line.
So when and where were Willoughby?
I just found you! Faintly did I remember your blog spot, but after a bit of tinkering found you here!
Hoorah! I love the last entry (A season can embrace ...) but I realize I don't get some because I've never been to NYC let alone frequent its environs.
How has God blessed you?? Write and let me know. How do find you on facebook? Or how about just an old fashioned email ????
pattymorwood
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