Monday, April 29, 2013

Why You Should Love Me (Day 29, #NaPoWriMo 2013)

April's shivering, beryl sky
was washed clean by
the warm barratage
of our lovers' laughter.

Each year--
in the precise spot where you
tied out the line, and
the sun stroked our pillowcases
with his cheek
--the lilacs bloomed.

On the ridge, those ancient sentinels
had the grace to sway
in the wild swathe of my anger,
and then to bend, leaning in
to hear my whispered apology.

Our dented copper kettle hums and
issues a throaty whistle
when you come in,
frost burrs clinging tenaciously
to your rag-wool socks.

Those candles, washed and reused,
somehow remain unchanged in number--
it's the sweet, dimpled face
of your favorite bitter-fudge cake
that somehow appears smaller,
and smaller still...

Even the forced gaiety
and papier-mâché romance
of Paris and Prague
bowed, powerless and meek,
in the presence of two dappled hands,
entwined within
a single red mitten.

In late September,
l'heure bleu shimmers,
citron and apricot,
along the western horizon.

(C) 2013, Hannah Six


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