The wind blows
through the doors of my heart.
It scatters my sheet music
that climbs like waves from the piano, free of the keys.
Now the notes stripped, black butterflies,
flattened against the screens.
The wind through my heart
blows all my candles out.
In my heart and its rooms is dark and windy.
From the mantle smashes birds' nests, teacups
full of stars as the wind winds round,
a mist of sorts that rises and bends and blows
or is blown through my rooms of my heart
that shatters the windows,
rakes the bedsheets as though someone
had just made love. And my dresses
they are lifted like brides come to rest
on the bedstead, crucifixes,
dresses tangled in trees in the rooms
of my heart. To save them
I've thrown flowers to fields,
so that someone would pick them up
and know where they came from.
Come the bees now clinging to flowered curtains.
Off with the clothesline pinning anything, my mother's trousseau.
It is not for me to say what is this wind
or how it came to blow through the rooms of my heart.
Wing after wing, through the rooms of the dead
the wind does not blow. Nor the basement, no wheezing,
no wind choking the cobwebs in our hair.
It is cool here, quiet, a quilt spread on soil.
But we will never lie down again.
- Deborah Digges (1950-2009)
I cannot imagine why it took me so long to discover the poetry of Deborah Digges. You can learn more about her by visiting her poets.org page. Expect to see more of her work here this month as I'm quite smitten!
MFB,
L
p.s. Who's your current po-mance (your new "poet-crush")? Tell me about it or post on your own blog, linking here....
4 comments:
"po-mance" is my favorite new word of the day. i've never read digges myself, but that should come as no surprise to you since I'm not a self-identified reader of poetry.
The last poems I read with real interest were by Beth Ann Fennelly, writing about her pregnancy and baby rearing.
Damp mattress rewind - Liz Worth
Damp mattress rewind to:
Dictation from
Molecular thunder
(and also known as
1 tablet makes 2 tablets makes 3 tablets makes
Consciousness no more).
Rapid eye movement
Is bird-boned but
Boasts hidden strengths
Tethered to the persona’s nuts and bolts,
The justification of deep depression
And apathy through the faith
Of processed wanderings.
No security in this abundance
Of awareness, only panicked avoidance.
Taken down to basic tactics,
Taken to what knows the
Palmistry codes covering
The mounts and scrolls.
Fast forward is only a
Slow motion trick:
All short cuts have short-circuited.
Thanks, E - I hopped over to your blog to see what you've been up to lately: great recs and your travelogue post was such fun to read!
Parrish - Thanks as ever for finding us wonderful poems and offering them up so generously. I visited you too and read, read, read!
Very nice poem and intro to a new poet. Thanks.
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