Hello, my Precious Blueberries!
I come to you from the land of social isolation, during these times of Covid – 19. It’s April 1st today, the first day of National Poetry Writing Month, and although I always fail to make it through the entire challenge, I am giving it the old college try once again, because I need something creative and constructive to help me occupy my time.
I haven’t really written anything since the fall. I have still been busy performing and doing workshops, but I didn’t feel the urge to write. In fact, I felt the opposite. But recently, I am starting to feel the urge once more, which is good, because now that I am quarantined, I need something to do.
A few months ago, someone told me that love poems are cliche, and that they don’t offer anything “new” in terms of contributing to the zeitgeist. Perhaps that is true, but I am a romantic at heart, and I happen to enjoy a good love poem…and this is MY blog, so phooey on them. Enjoy this love poem.
He Asks What I Want to Talk About
“I choose to love you in silence, for in silence I find no rejection.
I choose to love you in loneliness, for in loneliness no one owns you but me.
I choose to adore you from a distance, for distance will shield me from pain.
I choose to kiss you in the wind, because the wind is gentler than my lips.
I choose to hold you in my dreams, for in my dreams you have no end.” – Rumi
When my eyes are tributaries
tears leaping like spawning silver, pink-bellied salmon
I want to tell you that I need you like beech trees rely on each other for survival
but my voice always cracks like wood splitting in a fire
and smoke builds up in my lungs causing me to choke.
You ask me what I am afraid of
I don’t know how to tell you that the space between each of your breaths is the loneliest silence
and I want to wail mournfully at the top of my lungs like a loon paddling a glassy lake at dusk
calling for her mate to sing back to her, to tell her that she’s not alone
I don’t know how to tell you that I want you to sing back to my calls songs older than words
I want you to reassure me that you will return like dawn
inhalations and exhalations painting the indigo sky flaming orange.
I want us intertwined like gnarled old roots
I want you to wash over me like ripples of water on cattails
I want to be as near to you as resin on bark.
I would like to say that I can resist my feelings for you
that I can form an invisible line indicating the separation between protected wetlands and urban sprawl
but the truth is that you permeate me like minerals in rock
even though I am as inarticulate as lichen.
You ask me what I want to say
What I want to say is that I love you
but my berry-stained lips cannot form the words
out of fear that you will turn cold like summer fades to autumn
out of fear that you will leave me like geese migrating south.
So many others have left before.
But to not speak a thing doesn’t mean it isn’t true
falling cedars snap like lightening even when no one is there to hear them
I am trying to graft words to my tongue
trying to sprout courage from last season’s pine cones.
In the meantime, I weep like a flooded creek in spring
soaking the land around me while my heart melts like the snow
Some day, I will be oak-like
standing tall in my truth and ancient in wisdom
impervious to rejection
Until then, I write a world of forests to obscure my vulnerability
much like a doe lays her fawn down in an overgrown thicket.
Until then, accept these wildflower words that I picked from the meadow of my mind.
May they allude to the beauty that comes after rainfall.
This work, “He Asks What I Want To Talk About” by Beth Murch, is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.