I am told, during a quiet conversation,
that there is a movie with a scene and a lamp in it -
in which the lamp is referred to as "fragile".
Only the voice is telling me this softly
and phonetically as "fra-gee-lee".
And I've never seen the movie,
but I am being compared to this lamp in its care
being taken out of a box.
My last two weekends have been like this -
whereas people have had to take my hand or arm
to lead me across the ice paths
to find my way to one door or another.
And, I am finding in this turning of age towards forty -
that I am most like my mother now,
as she had been when she was younger.
It's as though the mirror twisted and turned
and found her delicate nature in myself just now.
There is no horn to toot in any of this
as I did not plant a flower,
sow any seed,
raise it from the ground,
nor nurture it to its fruition.
I simply have been me all along -
and now find myself in quiet conversations
that I don't know what to make of --
where my name has become
"fra-gee-lee".
And the girl that I am inside
blushes with attention
while the woman in me finds the voice of skepticism
that says "this isn't it" or "be careful".
For that, the clock ticks its hands towards midnight
and I find my way to whichever door,
being led by whichever arm --
to soon come home to my own pillow
and the warmth of my bedroom.
There are so many trees planted
outside of these windows -
yet the sun will come in spring and I do not
picture myself lying
underneath a single one of them.
There is such irony in all of this --
so many perfect moments,
perfect words,
perfect sentiments,
yet something amiss.
That perhaps were the trees a thousand miles away,
they would suddenly become the perfect place
to lie under as well...
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 8 of 8
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Good job ...
and I see your cheering section agrees.
You might want to fix "simple" here:
I simple have been me all along (I simply have been me all along)
Happy 4th of July .
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thanks so much for the kind words and catching that "simply" up there.
Hope all is well and that you had a great fourth of July too!
Kim
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...and that dear one, is the irony of life, those places we imagine to be perfect until we realize that where we are planted is where we bloom...spread wings, butterfly's or eagle's, to explore visions and the seeds of thought always sprouting. It is conception and growth, fragile as we perceive it, this side of heaven.
I see your mother, a lovely woman in you--and you, a gift to cherish.
Such intricate musings, Kimmie, that makes me think of dew sparkling on cobwebs in sunshine, the silks so much stronger than we realize, and beautiful (minus the spider, of course).
,
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The place we rest
Wonderful tale of what goes on within your heart and soul..lamp of your light, name of your mystery , the tree that is so far , an Eden's search, fragile we are , hands we take , and the mirror of when and now, that sometimes trick us, but we stay young and old,
with our feelings and soul, ..let the day lead you to peace and comfort with yourself ...though one day you may be gray the mirror of your eyes will forever remain young, as your soul, as love , then you are always a child to me ..
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I agree with Cat. This is masterfully written. Your voice is mature but also vulnerable and melancholy, which endears the reader and evokes empathy and identification.
The movie your friend was talking about with "fra-gee-lee" in it is A Christmas Story, one of my favorite movies and one I'm sure you'd enjoy if you haven't seen it. I can understand the comparison between how the lamp was handled, but not between you and the lamp because the lamp is a gaudy thing that the father loves because it was a "major award" he won but the mother hates because it's tacky as hell and he insists on putting it right in the front window for all the neighbors to see. haha. Anyway, I would never compare someone like you with so much class and intelligence to that lamp in any other way than the one you mentioned. Apparently, I also need to catch up with what's happening with you. What happened to make you so fragile? I hope you're okay.
I had a similar moment recently while traveling. We never want to admit that we're getting older but one day while riding on a bus in Turkey, I looked down at my hands and realized that they were my father's hands, the hands I used to study as a child from the back seat of the car during family road trips when he would put his arm up on the seat. It was a slight shock but also a nice feeling, to know that I am connected to him that way when we differ in so many other ways.
Sorry for writing so much. The more I like a poem, the more I rattle on. I enjoyed this very much. It's so refreshing to read such an intelligently written poem. You obviously took great care in writing it. It's just beautiful.
I hope 2008 is going well for you so far.
Mark
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you give me the sense of clear eyes seeing so much of the world, that its as if it were all new; standing in a place we always knew was there..over the horizon; now in our hands...wonderful theme here creates so much pleasant anticipation fra-gee-lay...actually i have been saying it that way for years..now it hits like deja-vu; i loved this poem; thank you so much...PK
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one of the best poems i've read on this site
for so many reasons-
the conversational tone here is perfect- the small voice vs the more grown voice inside the piece
the explanation of fra gee lee
is seamless and flawless- that whole bit could
have been terribly mishandled but you did it so perfectly- the
sense of aging
and not being where you want to be - you don't want to lie under the trees in your own side of the world..
the sense of youth when you think about the trees, the world a thousand miles away.. wonderful wonderful penning
m
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I can't thank you enough Mary.
I've been writing blogs of sorts and then revisiting them as poem or prose after reading a few out loud to my friends. The quieter they get, the more I realize I "hit" something.
Thanks for confirming it was a worthwhile endeavor.
Kim
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