For today, in my new-found boldness, I am once again sharing an original poem.
Morning
I woke from a dream of him
to find myself alone in bed.
How banal is that?
How many women have done the same,
from how many dreams
of how many hims?
Maybe he was fighting a war (Iraq, Civil, Trojan)
Maybe he was with someone else
Maybe he didn't exist at all except in that dream
Maybe he was crushed under rubble when the house collapsed in an earthquake
And how many beds?
Beds big and small, comfortable and lumpy
Penelope's (the one Odysseus made out of a tree)
Beds in dorm rooms and apartments and lonely houses
Or on the hard ground, a mat shared with four children in a tent city in Port-au-Prince
I woke from a dream of him
to find myself alone in bed
What a platitude,
and how foolish to write a poem
about that moment
when I looked for him among the sheets,
that brief panic before I remembered.
And then the sadness.
Except that this time
it was my dream
and my bed.
by Ruth from www.thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown.blogspot.com
Here's today's Poetry Friday roundup.
7 comments:
Oh, this is heartbreaking and so simply and beautifully written. It made me think of many I love who are now feeling this feeling for different reasons. Thank you for sharing your words.
A.
Beautiful.
Not foolish.
It made me think of my mom.. she and my dad divorced after 28 years of marriage.
And of many of the Alzheimer's patients I used to work with who were in secure units while their spouses still lived at home.
And of the surviving spouses of my hospice patients after they had passed.
Poetry is powerful stuff.
Sorry about the empty bed - may the hours until your Odysseus is back be short!
Thank you for sharing this. You remind us that we can make our pain into art. (and here's a wish, along with Tricia's that time passes quickly)
beautiful. i love your poetry. very similar to how i write.
except better.
What a strong and beautiful poem, Ruth.
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