Purple Lightning (poem)
Just something I would like feedback on. This is pretty new, but I feel like I'm past feeling like it's too new to take apart.
Comments and suggestions appreciated.
Purple Lightning
I arrived under gray skies
flashing violet; I had never seen
purple lightning before. I drove
through eight states and two storms,
felt the crash of impact as electric bolts
slammed the road, spirits thrilling
not knowing what exactly
I was hoping for except
to see you. I had an image
in mind of greeting you with
a fierce embrace but we are
not in the movies and this
is so real that I can
taste you: lavender and
coconut, sweetness and salt.
Now leaving, I pass under blue
skies dotted with white clouds:
picturesque. The midwest
stretches east before me,
hours still to drive that will pass
into days, retracing my steps
across those same eight states,
under new storms. Passing your exit,
there are knots the size of grapefruits
in my stomach. My heart rails, calling
my rational brain insensitive,
callous. I want to turn off,
go back to your house
and open the door with the key
you didn’t let me give back
and fold notes into small squares-
primitive origami to catch my jumbled
feelings in their creases-to leave
in your drawers, the medicine cabinet,
the freezer, downstairs in the basement
where you hold your breath,
words on paper for you to find
as your life unfolds in the next
few days, weeks, to tell you
I wish I could be there to open
the basement windows for you,
eat chocolate cake we both can’t finish
on your bed, to listen-
maybe most of all to listen-
and to show you with quiet acts
and daily ministrations that you
are precious, valued, wanted, seen.
That you are bigger than all that
worries you and smaller as well,
human and imperfect, powerful
and vulnerable, and that is
more than perfect enough,
pulsing with what is vital and beautiful.
Cut from the same cloth it seems
sometimes, we are not so much the same
but fit curled around each other’s swells
and yet there are ways in which
you can not reach me and I
can not reach you though I wish
fervently that I could single-handedly
surmount all the obstacles: hear you,
speak what you need when you need it,
learn how to touch you, to move you,
and at the same time, to simply be there,
steady, a rock for you to lean on. Instead
(because this is real and not a fantasy)
all I have to offer you is this:
a human and imperfect desire,
the certainty that you are
vibrant and able, beautiful and strong,
a potent force in the world,
and the belief that there is something
to this, that it is worth something,
even if I have no words for it
and it doesn’t fit neatly into my life
or yours. When I am driving home
over two days and more than
20 hours, I can close my eyes
and hear your voice singing to me
at 3 a.m.; I can’t shake it from
my head and it seems that you
are someone I need to keep
listening to and listening for,
like I know now to watch for
the flash of lightning that colors
the whole unsuspecting sky.
Cross-posted to whwn and my LJ
Comments and suggestions appreciated.
Purple Lightning
I arrived under gray skies
flashing violet; I had never seen
purple lightning before. I drove
through eight states and two storms,
felt the crash of impact as electric bolts
slammed the road, spirits thrilling
not knowing what exactly
I was hoping for except
to see you. I had an image
in mind of greeting you with
a fierce embrace but we are
not in the movies and this
is so real that I can
taste you: lavender and
coconut, sweetness and salt.
Now leaving, I pass under blue
skies dotted with white clouds:
picturesque. The midwest
stretches east before me,
hours still to drive that will pass
into days, retracing my steps
across those same eight states,
under new storms. Passing your exit,
there are knots the size of grapefruits
in my stomach. My heart rails, calling
my rational brain insensitive,
callous. I want to turn off,
go back to your house
and open the door with the key
you didn’t let me give back
and fold notes into small squares-
primitive origami to catch my jumbled
feelings in their creases-to leave
in your drawers, the medicine cabinet,
the freezer, downstairs in the basement
where you hold your breath,
words on paper for you to find
as your life unfolds in the next
few days, weeks, to tell you
I wish I could be there to open
the basement windows for you,
eat chocolate cake we both can’t finish
on your bed, to listen-
maybe most of all to listen-
and to show you with quiet acts
and daily ministrations that you
are precious, valued, wanted, seen.
That you are bigger than all that
worries you and smaller as well,
human and imperfect, powerful
and vulnerable, and that is
more than perfect enough,
pulsing with what is vital and beautiful.
Cut from the same cloth it seems
sometimes, we are not so much the same
but fit curled around each other’s swells
and yet there are ways in which
you can not reach me and I
can not reach you though I wish
fervently that I could single-handedly
surmount all the obstacles: hear you,
speak what you need when you need it,
learn how to touch you, to move you,
and at the same time, to simply be there,
steady, a rock for you to lean on. Instead
(because this is real and not a fantasy)
all I have to offer you is this:
a human and imperfect desire,
the certainty that you are
vibrant and able, beautiful and strong,
a potent force in the world,
and the belief that there is something
to this, that it is worth something,
even if I have no words for it
and it doesn’t fit neatly into my life
or yours. When I am driving home
over two days and more than
20 hours, I can close my eyes
and hear your voice singing to me
at 3 a.m.; I can’t shake it from
my head and it seems that you
are someone I need to keep
listening to and listening for,
like I know now to watch for
the flash of lightning that colors
the whole unsuspecting sky.
Cross-posted to whwn and my LJ