October is pregnant with November owls, smells of holidays
Wreathing round tables, windows.
No stairs.
First stories are ten feet high, with water marks, loose tin,
Loose memories of
No stairs.
Last year's October, barren. Tears miscarried, dreams in
Beer bottles; toys, clothes, food begged by
Fire stations. No ice.
No stairs.
Christmas of words, Thanksgiving of doctors.
Halloween strutted real...mad dancing, skulls worn
And uncovered. No treats.
No stairs.
Were you proof-reading the Ten commandments,
Knowing water never goes to Heaven?
On that sunset lake were shadows of someone
Stumbling.
Too many stairs.
You were always right, but not always on time.
You took from Heaven.
You would not give.
Too many stairs
Got in the way.
'Proof reading the Ten Commandments' is only one of the many absolutely astonishing images in this remarkable masterpiece and my God, what a title! !
So close to home that the memories flood my mind.........and tears my eyes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You give the reader a series of stepping stones to negotiate their way through your poem about hurdles and unfulfilled relationships. Your images are arresting and the feel of the piece is melancholic without being maudlin. The stairs metaphor is magnificent. Great poetry. love, Allie xxxx