Fade Into Another Place

TeaforTwo

Out of the corner of my eye

I spy

a flash.

It is black.

Perhaps a cat?

Not my cat.

He has long since departed.

But another,

I imagine,

who has found his way inside

this place where I reside.

Funny though.

Not too long ago,

I had a visit from a friend

who everyone tells me

has long been dead.

But oh so real

as we sat and had a cup of tea.

“Don’t you see?”

I asked the man who resides with me.

“She is here

in the chair,

as plain as can be.”

Is it something that haunts this place?

I contemplate

as I sit

and wait

for another friend to arrive.

But, I know.

I know.

This is an empty place,

and I must journey alone.

No friends to accompany me

as I make my way

past faceless strangers who talk and whisper.

I listen,

and I try to hear.

Will they confirm my deepest fear?

Their voices rise-

a cacophonous symphony

as they chatter

chatter

chatter

“Stop!”

Silence is what I need

to concentrate and discern

what is real

and what is make-believe.

And so I go

and go

and go

until I fade away

into another place

where, perhaps,

I will be young again.

Seasonal Ambivalence

Seasonal Ambivalence

As August closes, a restlessness manifests itself in the slight, nervous turn of the stomach.  We are aware that we have disappeared into the lightness of warm, languid days, and we begin to question whether the heat has led us astray.  And just as we begin to feel the rumblings of panic over the notion that the mercury has locked us into a constant state of mailaise, our senses heighten at the subtle, nutty fragrance of autumn’s impending arrival.  A sweet, cool breeze dances across our cheeks, and we feel a deep sense of relief knowing that we are still alive. We relish the chill of the fall and eagerly await the arrival of wintertide.

Bird Bath

We welcome the change of season and all the promise that colder air offers those who prefer the honesty of winter’s icy silence.

Up on the Hill

So we retreat indoors to light our fires, read our books and write our papers, all the while enjoying the view as we gaze out our windows to see the crystalline powder gently fall to the ground.

Winter's Table

But some winters-this winter-become too heavy.  The weight of snow and ice and thoughts becomes too burdensome, and we begin to smother in winter’s embrace.

Fence

In fact, it renders us nearly lifeless…devoid of energy, creativity, joy.

Winter Sky

But now, the season begins to turn again.  The temperature slowly ascends.  Banks of snow melt to rivers and flow into the sea carrying with them the disappointments of a season, once promising, now tainted with memories of loneliness and regret over opportunities lost.

Brush Under Snow

And as the water recedes,  a new season begins to emerge, but with it a slight sense of forbidding because with the warmth and sunshine comes the expectation for smiles that might not be ready to be formed.

Narcissa’s Daughter

Mother Narcissa-

she hated the moon.

“Conceal yourself.

She will be gone soon.

.

A child such as you,

Moon cannot abide.

You are not her kind.

Now, go run and hide. 

.

You are not of her

celestial court.

You are base and dark.

You’re an earthbound sort.

.

Stay in the shadows

away from her light.

Remain with me here

in the dark of night.

.

Narcissa’s daughter

did not wish to stay.

In the late, late hour

she ran far away

but was caught by Moon’s

bright, glorious rays.

And trapped in that light

the girl revealed

all that her mother

wanted concealed.

.

Look,” Moon instructed.

Look into my orb.

See the reflection

of the girl I adore.”

.

And so the girl saw

what her mother knew-

a heavenly child

now whole and renewed.

A similar face.

A different heart.

Mother Narcissa-

only a small part

of a brave, young girl

who ran to the dark

and found in the light-

Moon-her celestial parent

who watches her in the night.

A Whisper from Someplace Else

Yes, I hear you.

Your whispered messages are delivered

on gentle breezes

that travel over the vast ocean

and dance with the torrents

that lash the faces of frightened sailors.

They crash into my shores

and conceal themselves

within the gusts of gale force winds,

only to soar above the carnage that remains

until they are caught up in the sparrow’s wing

and set upon the frozen branch.

And, with sweet sparrow, they sing

in gentle harmony,

telling me that there is someplace else

I ought to be.

Request

When I am dead and gone

please let our history be.

I never meant to hurt you.

Of that I promise.  Can’t you see?

.

Please do not tarnish what we had

with memories dark as night

of things I can’t recall I did

before my soul took flight.

.

Please let the good that is now

be the beauty that remains.

When I have left your side

let my memory not cause you pain.

.

And so let us enjoy this time

while we are here as one

before night settles in

and my soul leaves to meet the sun.

.

Memories Made

When the mind can no longer sustain

memories made

we cobble together history

from the scraps

heaped in piles

and tucked into basement corners.

.

My heart breaks

knowing that I will forget you

as you are now.

So I build a fortress

of things

to shield us

from time’s relentless bombardment. 

.

And as my memory disappears into dust

the rubble that remains

still contains

pieces of the history of us.

Dance Us Away

Yes, yes.

That’s the song.

Fix me a drink, love,

and let’s dance

like we did

in the vecchia’s apartment

when it was all

Paolo Conte

and wonderful

and awful;

limes

and vodka;

when New York grew

too small

and the world

there

and scary.

Come, love.

I can’t breathe.

Dance us away.

That’s it.

It’s wonderful.

Yes, yes, yes.

I still dream of you.

Into January

Into January

By: Heather Nanni

photo (3)

The landscape so barren and dry

Stark contrast to the light inside

Both are dead worlds where we reside

All wrung out of tears left to cry

.

Silent streets echo silent night

Peering through glass opaque with frost

Hoping to find that which is lost

Seeking what is beyond our sight

.

Whisper, whisper, whisper a prayer

To lift the stone atop your chest

So it can heave and you can rest

To peacefully breathe new year’s air

.

Go out, listen as the breeze sings

Watch delicate flakes softly fall

From heaven they come gentle, small

To rid the ache the season brings