Skip to main content

If We Could Speak

Sharing with The Sunday Muse #210.



No industry where the sea has already eaten the road

No wine where the dreams are salted, preserved

No space for the story when water shoves the sand back,

Takes another lick at the asphalt,

Tastes the human toes, testing.

Gave you the blue sky, the blue sea, the blue planet

Gave you parts of the million years curling in your DNA

Gave you my breath, gave you my breath, gave you

Salt to savor your tears

Salt to float your dreams

If I could speak something other than flood

If you could speak something other than words

If we could speak the awe; if we could, if we could



Comments

  1. This is gorgeous, marvelously conceived and seamlessly executed. I adore this.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I am with Shay here Chrissa, this is one of your finest! The questions, the thoughts, the imagery....it is all amazing and feels almost like a sacred conversation. Love love love this!!!

    ReplyDelete
  3. This is wonderful, the whole thought process. If only we could speak the awe of this beautiful
    world and life.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Beautifully written - the flow and repetition, that last line ...

    ReplyDelete
  5. The rhythms are intriguing.
    Have a good Sunday

    Much💛love

    ReplyDelete
  6. This is brilliant! You have touched so many emotions in this amazing poem.

    ReplyDelete
  7. i really enjoy the questions left lingering between the lines. wonderful and haunting.

    ReplyDelete
  8. This is a brilliant, thought-provoking poem, Chrissa!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

By the Roadside

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse #260  with much appreciation to Carrie & Shay & everyone. Just a reminder: if you have a poetry book, please drop a title in the comments. My TBR won't thank you, but I will. :)    I drive by the armadillos, dead where they fell. Sunlight is so heavy it folds into damp shimmers. All the roads are widening, dispersing the ditches, Grinding out parking lots, killing slow steps. I speed up; crisp winter in the passenger seat. We will arrive at the store soon; I will drag her Chill, into the store. Breathe for both of us. Brightness distorts the lots, now grown gigantic. Roads need blood, the state needs the kills. We will make it through barriers if we wear them: Dead armadillos, caliche dust, gunmetal sunshine.

Turn Away

  Sharing with The Sunday Muse , for #193. Turn away, like the moon, listening... Listening to the planet that rumbles with a hundred million slaps. All the feet, all the rockets, all the  pistons in the cars on the asphalt over the chasm where the veins run deep, blue in sunlight, black at night. Running over the chasm.  Once or twice they ran to you. Once or twice they ran by. Greetings and salutations. The sky is an entertaining shade of concrete yellow as the rain promised earlier in the week makes good on its arrival. It's a disturbing bright sallow sky, the kind of sky that puts you in mind of old movies and degraded film stock and the pops and crackles incidental to the main story.  Several years ago I made a resolution to journal more and last year I came across a video that suggested I actually re-read those journals, at least those of the previous year, at the beginning of each new year. Technically, I have kept the journal resolution, making daily notes in...

Need

  Sharing with this week's The Sunday Muse #184 . Come celebrate Halloween with verse and The Muse.  I don't think the lantern needed the day; I needed the night: Lit and close and dark and smelling of faraway fires. I needed the smoky flicker that darkened the late-season field I needed the thin linen dress someone else's jacket hides; I needed the nested shadow; not blue, clear sight. It's already a spooky weekend: one window wedged itself just open enough for the breeze to moan beneath, James heard a drone last night (according to him, circling and circling the neighborhood without lights), and our sometimes neighbors have started to set up their backyard for whatever festivities they're planning for Halloween weekend. So...tomorrow (Halloween) will be a good day to read through the books picked up at the local author Spooktacular hosted by a used bookstore not far from here and to say a few final prayers before NaNo begins. Also, celebrating another zine draft r...