Three years ago I started a little project named a Poem a Day and wrote diligently for… oh a while. Reading back, I realized I do love the thought of this and I liked some of what I conjured up so hereby the poem a day is back on track!
As for comments, critiques, anything you feel like sharing: have at it! I love feedback and I love knowing you were here, so if it’s only a greeting, do comment. It makes my week, I’m tellin’ you!
Now, this post wouldn’t be much of an announcement without a little something something to go with it, so here’s the first 2013 Poem a Day.
She expected the world to turn upside down, at least tilt. She expected flowers to wilt and trees to shed their leaves. She expected time to halt, air to freeze, people to notice. She expected impact. Change.
She waited for the tears, the agony. She waited for the heartbreaking memories and the deep sense of emptiness. She waited for life to crash down on her.
under this curtain of
unbroken white and filtered blue,
I find, in
the corner of my eye,
an image or a shadow.
And I feel both relief
and another wash of sorrow.
We need to part ways
the curtain of white is
finally letting some light through, and
thinking of you doesn’t hurt
Your smile lingers
and reminds me of
how beautiful you were.
We don’t part ways anymore.
The door was open. Light streamed into the room like a waterfall, or so it looked from the sideways-on-bed, head-hanging-off-edge position I woke up in. I pulled myself up, cringed as my neck protested loudly with a crack and pain, and sighed heavily. There was noise in the kitchen. There were people in my house. There were kids in my house. The tiny kind, with diapers and sticky little hands and headache-building whining. Why were my sisters here, and why… Crap.
Suddenly the door wasn´t as much open as filled with faces. Horribly, uncomfortably happy and excited faces.
Happy birthday Lily! They announced like it was the best thing ever. Crap.
í þvottavél á bak við hurð
nógu nálægt til að
radda niðinn í hnakkanum á mér.
hugurinn ekki kominn á fætur þótt
fæturnir séu það.
Mjólkurblautar litlar hendur og
Mjólkurpollar á borðinu.