Oratory

• A proper life
• Abigail
• All Fall Down
• April, Almost May
• At the Reading
• Aubade for Pris & Baylus
• August 21
• Autumn
• Bell
• Blue Bed [The]
• Blues
• Braid [The]
• Breaking News
• Brother Gull
• Bubbling Place [the]

• Christo
• Clark Fork River
• Closing [the]
• Colors
• Coming to Grief
• Consider
• Darkening
• Death Is Not A Lover
• Dreams
• Duck Soup
• Duet

• Early Winter
• Exposed
• Fall
• Feather & Snow
• February
• Fever
• Fibromyalgia
• Fire Season
• Flat
• Flood Watch

• Ghost Ranch
• God Is Watching Us
• Goodbye
• Hard Winter
• Hearts & Eggs
• Hieroglyphs
• Hopscotch
• Horoscope
• Hunger

• I Turn In This Season Toward Winter
• If
• Incandescent
• Journals, notebooks, diaries, poems
• June 6, the last spring,first summer day this year
• Juneau on a clear day/ or,
  haiku water balloons
• Just the facts

• Ledge [the]
• Letter to a Friend in China
• Listening
• Lots
• Love 1
• Love 2
• Love 3
• Love 4
• Love 5
• Love 6
• Love, i ask you

• Making of Eve [The]
• Mango (a found poem)
• March Sonnet
• March Thaw
• Mariah Means Death in Italian
• Monday Afternoon
• Montana Autumn
• Moon
• Neighbors Debate [the]
• Next Day [the]

• On Being Evacuated
• On being seventeen & hating
• Oranges
• Poem to the Editor
• Poet [the]
• Poetry
• Praise Be
• Prayer
• Princess
• Raven
• Red
• Remember Me
• Richard and Judd

• Santa Lucia Day
• Secrets
• Sleeping alone
• Small
• Song to a Coastal Hunter
• Sonnet in search of a title
• Speaking In Tongues
• Spring Equinox 02005
• Stones
• Summer Solstice
• Sunday Morning
• Sunset
• Swimming Sonnet

• Thaw
• Therapist [the]
• Thinking of You
• This is a New Game
• To a Worried Friend
• Tripping

• Waiting|snapshot poem
• Waking Up in the Rockies
• What Can Be Seen
• What Does Love Want?
• What It Is
• When Lives Were Saved
• While Napping in Alaska
• Why Must It Be Beautiful?
• Winter Solstice

• Banner images & shells courtesy of
  Letters & Spot

Posted by sbpoet in Poems | Permalink

Technorati Tags: love, poem, poetry, spring

After you left, days of summer came
too early, forcing blooms that will shrivel
in the next, inevitable, frost. I sleep and sleep
through the long heat. Afternoon shadows
slant across the grass. Women pass by in pale
dresses, bare skin. I close the shutters

against the sun. Later, rain. Snow
high and spare in the mountains. Aspens
greening by the river. Wild geese fly low,
dark wings skimming the water. I always
know what time it is where you are. Flowerbeds
fill with tulips, red and yellow, and blue,

blue iris. The river rises, dark and loud.
My flannel sheets are damp in the morning;
I fold them away, bring out the cotton.
A pair of mallards sit together on a floating
log on the muddy water. I watch patterns
of light on the ceiling, white plum blossoms.

Yesterday, I went to the nursery, brought home
pansies, petunias, sweet william. The river
runs faster, birch trees stand in the water
at its edge. Under the dark surface, something
rises, sinks, tumbles in the current. This is how
it feels to love someone else's darling.

Light moves through the rooms, darkening
with clouds. I sit alone in my beautiful
house. I do not dream. I remember
your hands in my hair. I think about
the translucent sky; the fast river; the rocks
along the bank, wet and mossy; how old

women have carried firestones for years,
from camp to camp, nestled against their
bellies. My bones are dry kindling, my flesh
sweet oil. Blue flames flicker along my arms,
across my flowered sheets. Shadows move
on the bedroom walls.

   

• 
  Vote for Oratory

• SEARCH ORATORY
  

• *NEW*
• Concrete
• Found/Collage
• HOME PAGE
• Poems
• Sonnet
• Syllabic
• The Love Series
• Villanelle

• s m a l l p o e m s | certainly small | possibly haiku
  

• POETRY & POETICS
• Snapshot Poems 2008
• Snapshot Poems 2007
• Snapshot Poems 2006
• Snapshot Poems 2005
• Snapshot Poems 2004

• About Sharon Brogan

• • sbpoet

  • Watermark|A Poet's Notebook
  • Abide|CFS/FMS/M.E.
  • Blogging Blog|Tips, Tools & Toys for the Personal Blogger
  • Oratory|Poems
  • s m a l l p o e m s | certainly small | possibly haiku
  • Commonplace Book/
  • Links/Explore the Web
  • Get your own Widget

• Disclaimer
  
  Please do not assume that I am the speaker/ subject of my poems.
  
  In these times of creative nonfiction and fictionalized memoirs, I think of the poem itself as true fiction: it is most likely not factual, but it must be true.
  
  It is likely to be -- it is best if it is -- a truth I did not know before I wrote, and may not understand even then.
  
  A poem is my way of discovering (dis-covering) what I feel; sometimes, what I think -- but it is not necessarily biographical.

• 
  TRANSLATE