"anticipant" poems
When did it happen, how did it happen?
What lonely hour did dawn break into the
dark vaults of the firmament high? When did
the storm-cloud tiptoe across the arid sky?
Was it that night of the festival of lights,
when you nudged past the crowds to stand
by my side? That winter when the moon
shone across the desolate snow, to rhythms
of dew dripping from distant tiles? Or
the days after the storms when I discovered
that vulnerable you beneath your chiseled
cloak of practiced calm? How does the spring
bring mourning valleys to flower in the smiles
of a thousand vines? O cherished mystery,
when did this feeling, deeper than sorrow,
unmoved by pain, mightier than weakness,
stronger than the bruises from a hundred lies
that line the course of this chequered life, how
did this arise, anticipant joy of a journey nigh?
Bonds of lives past, is this how ye come alive?
That very first day when hello-eyes smiled?
Oct 27, 2012
Oct 27, 2012 at 2:17 PM UTC
It is a crisp winter evening in Chicago, and children everywhere are finishing up a day filled with hot cocoa, wet mittens, and NO SCHOOL. A particular family enjoys the evening frolicking in the snow mounds in their front yard. Snow falls softly as a young girl sits on one of the mounds and watches the scene unfold; her family enjoying nature’s wonders. The trees in the yard become delicate, sparkling saplings as the snow falls lightly onto their branches. With yesterday’s snowmen in the yard and garland and twinkling lights strung from the porch railings, the house looks anticipant of Christmas morning. The eldest boy, clad in navy jacket and green pants, works on the finishing touches of his precious snow fort. His younger brother builds an equally satisfying fortress opposite him. Flakes are beginning to fall faster as the father of the family continues on with tedious task of shoveling the never-ending driveway. The snow continues to fall as the youngest daughter lies in the snow flapping her arms like a bird as she makes angels in the snow. As the brothers begin a rigorous snow battle, the youngest child waddles out of the house in a puffy coat, ginormous mittens, and way-too-big boots. He plops down onto the ground next to his sister, and tries imitating her flapping. Every now and then, a car will come by, and the young children pelt it with snowballs, and the driver, very annoyed, honks his horn profusely at them. As the girl watches her family take pleasure in the night, smelling lingering car exhaust and dinner, feeling flakes dust her face, she can’t help but wonder if this will be the one thing she remembers best about her childhood.
Feb 27, 2012
Feb 27, 2012 at 7:49 PM UTC