(no subject)
i used to enjoy christmas so much more then.
(A Sestina) - White Light in the Night
Sometime the palm trees seem to sink, or maybe it’s me who is sinking,
I can never tell,
but lately I have missed the scents of the night,
folded up in dark boxes like all the memories that will never see light.
The darkest part of me
feels like the darkest part of the sea.
Though I never lived by the sea
my bed was next to the sink
and I would write with ink stories of a happy family and me.
No one would ever be told
though of these nights in that candle light
in my tiny room where colors were bending and fading in the night.
I had blue and lonely nights
climbing onto my roof so I could see
the absorbing rays of city light.
I could never escape the water running so loud in that sink
underneath me, my mothers voice telling
my father nasty things about me.
I know nothing of me
and these secrets of the nights
that tried to tell
of a time when I could see
my mother standing at the sink
surrounded in white light.
My father brushed my forehead lightly
but he would not hold me.
He would only sink
into each deep night.
Where he went I wasn’t allowed to see
and he would never tell.
I was holding my baby brother when my father came in to tell
(I could hardly see him in the low light)
to say he was leaving for a place by the sea
and I could tell by the way his wrinkles formed words that he would not miss me,
my mother washing her hands so hard they turned red in the night.
That night in that white light I sank.