"Trees are poems the earth writes upon the sky,
We fell them down and turn them into paper,
That we may record our emptiness."
Khalil Gibran

Sunday, July 2, 2017

Aubade at Break of Day

It's all the same to morning what it dawns on--
Michael Longley.

Sleeping Woman
Tamara de Lempicka (1935)
Fair Use


Do you know how much I long for you at dawn?
Oh, that burning of my eyelids reminds me
why it is called break of day.
Yes, something is broken.

Sometimes, before I submit to sight and sound
I touch my fingertips to lips for proof
of life, an inkling of breath,
a taste of your name.

A bed is like a grave, and we embrace the death
it promises, the dissociated state
where forgetting is real
and living deflected.

Yet, I know you are in the world, some where
and for this reason alone I quieten
the irrational impulse to check
for shards at my feet.

It is only the light that lies divided on the rug.
I swing my legs over the edge to stand up,
as you too must cross the threshold
of your own new day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Play It Again Toads!
I have written the Aubade using words from Hedgewitch's list.


40 comments:

  1. I call this, Awakening...Wow!!! The third stanza is my favorite...

    ReplyDelete
  2. Goodness, this reads like being born every morning. No, more than being born--since newborns aren't known to fear the loss of a world they've never seen--this poem is being reborn with every dawn, after having gone to bed understanding that waking without the subject will mean death. Chilling, scary, and extremely passionate.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Got to make an Aubade a bit more than chirping birds. Atwood's poem inspired me.

      Delete
  3. as you too must cross the threshold
    of your own new day.

    The morning after presents a lot of emotional mixes. For whatever drowsiness or misgivings it would be most welcomed to greet a new day!

    Hank

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yes, one is grateful for each new chance a day presents.

      Delete
  4. Beautifully done. I especially like the third stanza.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks! The 3rd stanza seems to be a hit (all that imagery of death, perhaps?)

      Delete
  5. The poem takes advantage of some exquisitely painful ironies -- first blush of day married to the dearth of the other, the bed as grave of a former union. That light also zones the distantly separated days of two living formerly alive together hearts. The things we have to endure to gain a full-hearted poem, by flickers and halves and memories composed ...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I don't know what life is without irony. Nor poetry without painful experiences.

      Delete
  6. We all cross the thresholds of our own new days in our own way - and thinking about the one yearned for at that time of day is a beautiful way to start one's day! This is beautiful and classical and so well penned.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I like the way you looked at the scenario. Thanks, Mary.

      Delete
  7. Beautiful, sad and filled with longing, how well this poem read.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. The melancholy of winter mornings can do that to a poet.

      Delete
  8. I read your poem after reading this:

    https://nanmykel.com/2017/07/01/i-know-you-momma/

    So I put the stories together.

    Heartbreak all around this morning.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. That is a sadder story than mine was intended to be, but all loss takes its price from the living.

      Delete
  9. Excellent. I relate. Sometimes we feel we are dead too. I touched my lips.

    ReplyDelete
  10. I can feel that awakening to present reality, the awareness of the other awakening to his day somewhere else.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Such a commonplace thing, yet I imagine what the individual experiences in those few minutes is unique.

      Delete
  11. This is superiorly subtle and flawless how you brought light over the broken things and hope into a new day.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you, Angie. I appreciate such a compliment from a poet I admire enormously.

      Delete
  12. A beautiful write to read on a Sunday morning!!! I love each word!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you, Annell. I'm still thinking of you in the desert with your shell. That is an image for poetry.

      Delete
  13. I love that break of day and being broken.... something I thought about but couldn't set to words (and I'm happy now for that)... the bed as a grave is also a very stark image... Really good.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. High praise from the master of dark imagery! Thank you, Bjorn.

      Delete
  14. Ah, terribly sad--even heart-breaking in a specific sense--a pain that can be imagined for lover, child, parent, past. Thanks. k.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yes, for any and all whom we have lost along the way.
      Thanks, Karin.

      Delete
  15. Sometimes, before I submit to sight and sound
    I touch my fingertips to lips for proof
    of life, an inkling of breath,
    a taste of your name............such a beautiful piece of writing.

    ReplyDelete
  16. Such intense emotion in this, Kerry!❤️ Especially love; "Sometimes, before I submit to sight and sound I touch my fingertips to lips for proof of life , an inkling of breath, a taste of your name." Sigh.. beautifully executed!

    ReplyDelete
  17. Yay! Bravo! I was so touched by your poem here. It is very innovative and stands by itself. thanks for the beauty!

    ReplyDelete
  18. We can give in to our loss or greet the morning in our strength. (wherever we find it or have tucked it away)

    ReplyDelete
  19. I really enjoyed this poem. Never thought about the 'breaking' of day.

    ReplyDelete
  20. Lovely writing. I love the gradual progression, and 'the irrational impulse to check / for shards at my feet'.

    ReplyDelete
  21. What a passionate and sensual poem

    ReplyDelete
  22. The verses are powerful and soft at the same time. Lovely depiction.

    ReplyDelete
  23. Powerful poem. Every day is new... it's a shame how many of them are wasted. Great read.

    ReplyDelete
  24. Ohhhh.... I covet the second stanza especially. So truthy, so easy to relate to this, it's perfect and beautiful, like life and like loss.

    ReplyDelete
  25. perhaps why the French say, la petite morte.

    you've tapped something here, that deep vein that bubbles dark red ~

    ReplyDelete

Let's talk about it.