The Storm

Here's my 3rd Poem of April, National Poetry Month, and a gentle invitation to join me by responding with any poetry you love or lines of your own. Thanks, loves.

The Storm
By Edith Hope Bishop, Feb 2017

I keep
dreaming
of your indifference
transformed into
weather.
The slow way
you move through
a ruined cityscape
and settle at the sea.
If you asked,
I would forgive you.
I would listen
and bind what’s loose,
wait out the worst,
batten down the hatches,
but for this certainty
that storms need
nothing of the sort.

Comments

Barbara said…
My response:I glanced in the mirror today.

Oh, my love,
When did I grow . . . old?
Was it yesterday? The day before?
The image staring back at me
With sagging breasts and
Wrinkled skin . . . .
When did I grow old?

Remember our party
When we turned forty?
A black-tie dance
With our good friends
we danced all night
Me in sequins
You in your tux
We laughed and twirled. . .

We thought our youth
would last Forever.
But today, I see
No fancy dresses
No more bands.

Where are those friends of old?
Left behind with
Our youth and our home.
We moved away, you know.
It can be lonely being old.

I looked in the mirror today, my love.
I shan’t look again.
Oh my goodness, Barbara, what a lovely piece. Thank you so much for sharing this. Time is a mystery indeed. And aging, I'm learning, can be quite mind boggling. I so appreciate that you shared.
Barbara said…

You are a kind and wonderful person, Edie. I love you and wish I had half your talent.

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