Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
elizabeth-balisePoems
Was I ten? I think? Was it December? that I became distracted by the snow's falling silence? The Dingle's hills lure me off the curving path toward home-- I surely know my way-- though path invisible snow beyond my knees Now but for the patterns of the trees that etch the skyline I would be lost... My love.... ...were it not for those I would be lost My feet lift depths Impassible The snow impossible-- could it be this deep? could take this much? should trudge so far? beyond my depth my breath a fog-- of all I own? I am wading in the white down-warmth Sweat in spite-- of freezing of parental threat... Wind brings tears to reddened cheeks Toes, long since numb ...and I am late-- as always Wipe my nose on sleeve Pull mittens with my teeth fumbling tissues damp in pocket deep I have gone so far too far into the Dingle's windings with my mind and night is falling Night is watching from the hemlocks now behind my purpose-- only in the gray of sky the ghostly silence of the moon rise I don't know where night came from How it got here why I came only that I want to linger-- longer than that twinge of fear Listen...to soft tick of snow against itself Wind in white pines saddest of living things begs a loan of winter winds
0
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 6:01 PM UTC
Against Itself
Was I ten? I think? Was it December? that I became distracted by the snow's falling silence? The Dingle's hills lure me off the curving path toward home-- I surely know my way-- though path invisible snow beyond my knees Now but for the patterns of the trees that etch the skyline I would be lost... My love.... ...were it not for those I would be lost My feet lift depths Impassible The snow impossible-- could it be this deep? could take this much? should trudge so far? beyond my depth my breath a fog-- of all I own? I am wading in the white down-warmth Sweat in spite-- of freezing of parental threat... Wind brings tears to reddened cheeks Toes, long since numb ...and I am late-- as always Wipe my nose on sleeve Pull mittens with my teeth fumbling tissues damp in pocket deep I have gone so far too far into the Dingle's windings with my mind and night is falling Night is watching from the hemlocks now behind my purpose-- only in the gray of sky the ghostly silence of the moon rise I don't know where night came from How it got here why I came only that I want to linger-- longer than that twinge of fear Listen...to soft tick of snow against itself Wind in white pines saddest of living things begs a loan of winter winds
I had been reading Frost's "Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening" again, and I think I know just where he was. Yup, in trouble. Street lights definitely on. dingle: Irish, for a small narrow wooded valley with a brook, in other words-- the back woods behind my house.
#free#range#kid
Written by
elizabeth-balise
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 6:01 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem