There was rest in morning
over groaning boards
beneath a creaking roof;
until old house began to thaw.
Fireplace familiars break quiet
rattle of kindling and popping,
flames licking icy split logs.
Rubbing knees and thighs together
under covers and flannel
chilled cheeks in feather quilt,
for few more golden drifting minutes;
warm thighs met colder fingers,
among goose bumps, cotton undies
and dark curly hair;
long breath and warming exhale,
drifting soft now -
awake to the clatter of mealtime
joyous musical chanting contentment
children calling for more, and more
fresh coffee lifted to smiling mustached lips,
plaid shirt over layered undershirts, buttons…
certain smiling eyes, that said thank you
for this morning, and for last night…
breath caught in throat,
guttural half head-snap snore
and eyes blinked in morning again;
this time she would rise, face frost gray windows
icy floors and labors in-waiting.
It all seemed so unrewarding without
her man and children, knots came again
burdened back and tight stomach;
seemed love had city limits.
Taken by bright lights… brighter futures,
they were gone…just she and sister now
derelicts of life, stuck in a drafty cabin
on a farm too small to keep a man
bank note too big to keep a smile
and too demanding to let her sleep past sunrise.
A contest entry
- For My Teachers (5300 points) by just rob.
5000 points, ended March 1, 2008, 21 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Corn Field (prewrites welcome) by Danna Hobart.
490 points, ended February 6, 16 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 10 of 10
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Too often I wake up to reality and find myself much as this lonely woman. Love does seem to have city limits. I love all of this one Peteskid. I could actually feel the chill on that morning you describe.
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A very sensual write, and then it took a dramatic turn. Wow. I really enjoyed this. Thank you so much for entering.
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Excellent, a meaningful story and terrific imagery.
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The day she sleeps over, will be the day perhaps she is called home. This was the way of the south I know this woman many times over.
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Sexy metaphors, great images, nice words. Good stuff.
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OMG... this is delightfully filled with images which spring to life as the stove takes too long to warm the air and I long for just another minute before crawling out from under my feather comforter.
I love this splendid write, so realistic.
Dee
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WOW...
I failed to notice the lenght of this until after having read it as I was too caught up in the story line. Some wonderful imagery in this piece for sure
Ruth
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Well Done
Rich in image and emotion, in metaphor and evokotive emotion. Oh, that dicotomy. Isn't the morning a beautiful and terrible thing? I like the narrative values as well. A story well told.
Good stuff!
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Quite a storyline..... moody... directional........ "too demanding to let her sleep apst sunrise" is a shocking revelation.... that's a really tough place to wind up. I always pray for people to have lives beyond work... beyond responsibility and taxes... you know, where we all go out in the street and simply play "tag".... where's those times these days?
Good job: good luck.
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I like this revised one better - I think this is story that can't have a word restriction for the poem, to tell it and show it to its full potential as you have done here.. This is such a sad one..I like the fireplace part you've added and the ending is clearer
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