Dreaming Goodbye

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Three years ago my very strong, courageous, beautiful grandmother passed away. She has had such a significant impact on my life, even now that she’s gone. She was witty and independent and strong and she was all this in a time when women were only beginning to understand their own strength and the impact they could have. She met my first boyfriend when I was 15. She eyed up all six feet of him then and said, “Rhianna’s going to university you know,” as if to warn him off in case he thought to change my plans. She approached every single day with such a feisty sense of humour and spirit that it’s hard not to feel an empty space without her. She was larger than life and so how fitting that the morning she died she requested to be dressed early (something she never did) and went out to the dining room to socialize, where she passed away surrounded by people. How fitting that less than a week after she died I had a dream about her and 3 years later I still remember it in detail like a memory of her that never fades. I’ve wrestled with how to write about it for a while because it felt too big to capture. I’ve cried my way through the words and the pages to get the right stuff to describe the way she came to me and said goodbye…

Dreaming Goodbye

I sit between the mantel’s warmth,

And my tearful last goodbye.

The cassettes spread,

In a listless promenade of dusty memories

Of a life in rearview.

Wandering cagey triumph,

Full of the possibility of tomorrow’s embrace.

Dipping low on the pink horizon.

Cotton candy and despair kissing the earth.

She knocks and I rise to understand.

She’s warm but she’s cold to the touch.

I am hushed but the realness of her movements burn the moment.

And I am crushed by the weight of the world,

In this last embrace.

She is everything I may never be,

And it catches in my throat and my eyes,

Until nothing is clear.

And I am alone here.

And she is okay but she is gone.

The old white house with the crooked barn

And the quilted roof remain.

Empty vessels brimming with the clutter of happiness.

Vacant rooms buzzing with thirsty excitement and quietude.

And all along there she was.

At the center of a distant vision.

Warm light,

Smiling in the peace of its glow.

Fat tears of longing wash through my heart.

Gentle waves on the ocean back home.

Retreating Moon

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Sipping the wealth of a moment

The mockery of light,

Stenciling a wayward smile across your face.

Bleeding me of jade. 

A prisoner to the faults.

The wretched desire of my own disgrace

Whimsical in its masquerade. 

 

The bated breath of the journey

Hauntingly beautiful

Amidst the taste of my gloried bravado.

Like the thickness of open water

Downcast by the moon.

Lapping the stars in a taunt of precision and greed.

Marrying the lightness and dark,

To the mockery of desperate need.

 

Destitute blindness leaning heavily,

On an eclipse of happenstance.

In the sheen of a forgiving tune

Evangelistic expectations,

Exposed,

Menaced,

By the ribbons of a retreating moon.

Cracked Wide Open

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Aching hollowed flutter

On the edge of joyful remoteness.

The pleasure cruise of a dream world full of connection.

Just at its wings,

Newness fading into familiarity.

Light peaking over the ridge of truth,

And washing away the stillness.

Washing away the ‘us’ that never was.

Beneath a faulty cloud of tenderness.

Two strangers-

Broken.

Sewn together by wounded thread and pricks of bitter disarray.

Lying naked

Before one another under a crescent of flighty jumbled words.

Synthetic laughter tainting the pleasure of happenstance.

Loneliness a size too big for perfection.

Thumping along to the beat

Of a heart cracked wide open.

The centrepiece in a world full of ruined plenty,

And carefully, shaken faith.

Night

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Flavoured by the intuition of a fragrant dream.

Wrapped in the embers of a wish.

Constructed unbroken heartsickness.

Wanderlust,

Waking hope in the abyss.

Lonely Wanting

Too far removed from petty cares.

The root of creative pleasure

Stolen by the bustle of busy affairs.

Tantric melancholic visions

Washed and mended by the light.

Frozen, moodied fragile motion,

Tinted by a distant fierceness.

Night.

The Crow

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The Crow sat at my window

And chastised me until I rose.

She flipped and flew ever higher,

Tipping her wings in a wave.

Dipping and cawing

And swallowing the air with her grace.

 

I leaned in closer to get my baring

Shielding my eyes from the sun.

Watching her carry on

Stretching and looping

Undeterred by time and space.

 

Eyes on the world, wings outstretched.

Spanning the gentle curve of loneliness

A branch, a prance, a pause.

Cosmic and unmoved.

A journey to gravity’s hard embrace.

 

Fallen and immobile beneath the oak.

Shotgun gust of feathered flight

Motionless amongst a bed of leaves

Cracked and varied

A haven of orange downy beneath her face.

 

Silent still the strangled world

Light trickling through the injured air.

Eerily abandoned beneath the oak

Fanning the dark reproduction

Of my own disgrace.

Better Day

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Fragrant whispers of tangled words

Drift haphazardly

On a spoiled shore.

Dampened,

Strangled,

Undisturbed.

Misted presence of a distant lore.

 

Breathless kiss of biting cold

Frosted,

Fearless,

Fate.

Juxtaposed with hearts of madness

Tales of spirits faint

 

Mysterious beacon of defining beauty

Dark.

Ubiquitous fray.

Misshapen thunderous intoxication,

Broken promise of a better day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Season of Gold

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Soft wisps of tender light

Flicker.

Hushed remnants of warmer cares.

Frosted memories of broken glass

Diminished.

Tangled and torn by winter airs.

Crisp and frozen in the midnight hour

Silenced.

Stung by a harsher cold.

Time has stopped and rushed on by

Immortalized

By the season of gold