Monday, December 04, 2006

Walking on Water ~~ anna hood

I float roses on the snow.
The wind catches them
tosses them onto the bed
where Oriental poppies sleep
like you.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ I whisper,
‘it is only the wind.’
It lifts my skirt
the poplar trees shiver.
‘Shall I sing for you
as I scatter petals on your grave?’

This morning I sat
in your chair. You’d look
out the window when you’d write
watch the birds. They still wait for you
with your bucket of seed.
You knew their names, their calls;
you could read the map of the sky
painted on their wings.

In my wallet – photos
a lock of hair – a wish.
My hair is short now
some grey, the colour of a nuthatch,
mixed into the blonde.
You’d like it, I think.

Do you know
there are eight million Shinto deities,
That sometimes now I walk on water?
Do you know I miss you?


Blogger Bernita said...

"you could read the map of the sky
painted on their wings..."

That is so lovely.

6:58 AM  
Blogger anna said...

thanks so much bernita
you always make my day!

8:41 AM  
Blogger jason evans said...

I actually felt myself getting misty reading this. The highest compliment I can give.

Of course, your imagery is always sterling, but here you also demonstrate a wonderful cadence--the little revelations that come in the next line.

2:32 PM  
Blogger Susan Abraham said...

Joan Baez again and again.
Anna, have you heard her songs yet?
You must!
Go to the album Diamonds & Rust.
All I can say is that Baez would adore poetry like yours.
just me...your stumbling playwright in the wings,

5:04 PM  
Blogger anna said...

Oh Jason, what a wonderful comment!
thank you so very much. Cadence is a wonderful thing.

Susan, no Baez yet - but I will -
promise. Stumbles is good - Stumbles mean you are still working. It is stopping that is the dreadful thing. Thanks my sweetheart - HUGE HUG

5:46 PM  
Blogger Roberta said...

As I read this, I remembered my first love, with his long blonde hair and his leather fringed jacket - the way he always smelled of Teaburry Gum. Today would have been his 51st birthday.

...odd, you should write this and I should read it.

3:49 PM  
Blogger anna said...

Roberta, remembering is good
as always thanks for taking the time
(big Hug!)

5:33 PM  
Blogger Dafath said...

Morning here; cold though
no snow the rose petals
white as snow blow
in the Arctic wind that later
will freeze the sweat
on the hairs beneath my nose,
white on white tattered brocade.
Once while running in the dark
Michigan night angry in winter
I fell through the ice where
in early summer daffodills grow
in a field of gold.
I prayed to 8 million Shinto
deities and made the sign
of the cross to the one Christian
one; I did not freeze. I did not
walk on water. Wet, cold, more
frightened then than angry I
crawled to my knees and went home
where too my prayers were answered.

2:58 AM  
Blogger anna said...

hey you! I hope you're rested up. as for falling through the ice, you must have walked on water.
thanks dear Bear.

4:52 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Beautiful and moving.

1:43 PM  
Blogger anna said...

once again thank you lehane!

2:23 PM  
Blogger Saaleha said...

Remembering is painful, but it heals too. And this poem reminds you of that. of how people are immortalised in our hearts. Thank you Anna for that. It was lovely,

10:16 PM  
Blogger anna said...

saaleha, you will probably not see this - I very nearly didn't see your comment. Thank you, your response touched me!

3:14 PM  

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