Snapshot 15 December 02004

Nights expand to hold
the waxing moon. Fog
in the mornings, and new
snow on the mountains.
Days shrink and cling

too close together. Already
the clothes need washing,
cupboards are empty,
the cats' bowls bare. Dust
accumulates in corners

like growing shadows.
Didn't I do all this just
yesterday? Or was it
the day before? I close
the shutters against a bright

snow-filled night, but wake
to bare ground. Or was that
the day before? Didn't I laugh
just yesterday? This braid
has grown to touch my waist.

Comments

[Rachel]

This is really beautiful. I especially like the linebreak at "Days shrink and cling// too close together" and that last line is quite powerful. You've made me want to work on a new poem today, so thank you.

I've found that most of my poems in the last half-year or so work best in this very form -- four five-line stanzas (cinquains?), often enjambed. Does this form have a name, do you know, or is it just one of the vessels words pour themselves into?

[Dave]

Outstanding! I love both the sense and the sound of it. My attention too was drawn to the lines Rachel cites, less for the arrangement of words on the "page" than for the interplay of assonance and alliteration:

Days shrink and cling

too close together. Already
the clothes need washing,
cupboards are empty,
the cats' bowls bare.

I'll be re-reading this poem more than once.

[deb]

Very beautiful. I admire your writing so much :)

[Ken]

Such true images of a northern winter. And, such images of our recurring days with the details running together, the only measure of time an empty cat bowl and the growth of our graying hair. A prism casting images on the snow and cold of a northern day. A gem of a poem