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Poems from in between

Poems from in between

by Jenifer Cartland


  • January 23, 2016

    Prayer

    (upon learning of a friend’s violent death)

    i

    allow me to pause
    to rearrange my heart,
    its sinews, tissue,
    the rhythm it takes
    while I walk this street

    now, all making way
    for a new configuration
    you being gone
    in an instant, in the heat
    of that strangling hour

    give me some time
    yet to enfold you
    in new and unwelcome form
    to embrace, know, feel,
    be part of your moment

    allow it to extend
    its precious grip
    deep into my heart,
    transform it, perhaps
    teach it a new meter

    it must be measured,
    my heart must rearrange

    ii

    you would have sobbed,
    choked for mercy, I know
    because I hear you now

    as the night slowly beckons
    we seek a sleepy forgetfulness,
    blinding silence

    but I hear you now
    with your refusing,
    startled whimpers,

    an infant in betrayal
    innocence spilling from you
    as all the world unravels

    my heart must rearrange
    I ask for time

    iii

    let us consider
    kindness now in all
    its strident powers

    let us dwell
    in its sanctuary, dare to sip
    its healing waters

    let us imagine the time
    when two poorly fitted souls
    met eye to eye to find welcome

    within the garden
    of kindness,
    draw from that moment

    awakening
    I pray my heart
    arranges to your new rhythm

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  • January 21, 2016

    Winter

    open water, patches
    of sleet chunks, rolling skin,
    long stretches of ice sheets
    deluding us that underneath
    lies still — exoskeleton

    of gray, silver, blue, black
    rising and falling while breath
    moves under and through,
    amniosis seeping, small curls
    along the shoreline

    where warmth? hidden dark
    into the churning below,
    gestating secrets birthed
    slowly with unknown pain
    nameless, of unknown nativity

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  • January 14, 2016

    Stopping by lakefront on my way home

    I always think it’s aspens here
    but maybe it’s cottonwoods
    you can’t really tell
    unless the seeds are falling
    and we are way past that now.

    Between the leaves flipping and knocking
    in the wild rush off the lake
    and the pounding of the archers
    on their targets behind you
    an odd space opens for the clatter

    clatter of halyards to surface
    and you are brought back
    to those sleepless nights
    halyards clanging all hours
    over your damp bunk

    you learn right away
    it is not soothing after all,
    except in your memories.
    So you stand here now
    soothed back to your wits.

    I wonder should I apologize
    for being fit to be tied
    or perhaps no one really noticed,
    me being overwrought in regret,
    over-precious with shame, on end.

    The girl unpacks her quivers,
    eager and true, combs her hair
    back, checks her bow, aims –
    a miracle of compression –
    and releases, again, again, again

    https://poemsfrominbetween.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/stopping-4.m4a

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  • January 8, 2016

    All that seems forever

    hill rolls under concrete,
    skyscrapers, shops, trains,
    all that seems forever

    as I climb toward my hotel
    all that seems forever
    bends to the hill, rather

    than the hill bending to it
    even as the hill shifts its edges,
    shakes out its cramped spine

    at will so that all that seems
    builds its forever in peril.
    yet, it does not crumble

    nor voice shame, perhaps
    learning wisdom in the bends,
    honor in the shifts, odd jiggles

    https://poemsfrominbetween.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/all-that-seems-1.m4a

    ————–
    My husband challenged me to choose a ‘poetic’ New Year’s resolution. So here it is – adding a voice recording to my poetry posts. I chose this for two reasons. First, it terrifies me. Second, it is an excellent reminder to test my poems with my voice before being satisfied with the paper version. Eek.

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  • December 30, 2015

    To annotate time

    How it is that time
    moves in pieces
    that each we must
    note or touch or
    somehow move to mind

    How it is that life
    is nothing but time
    that moves forward
    in pieces we dare not
    not hold, but rarely even
    recall or know or grasp

    How it is that forever
    is only time on end
    that moves in pieces
    we skip over like a game
    of hopscotch, yet

    cause, effect, process,
    growing into, evolving
    out of, slicing ’twixt,
    funneling together,
    shape us even so —

    How it is these
    tiny pieces shovel
    forward and on
    for us to mark,
    embrace, fall from,
    to live or not

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  • December 21, 2015

    Solstice

    weep not that the world changes
    in all of your wanderings; open
    to the oblivion that softly
    wipes away the stain of yesterday

    open still to the shifting of love,
    to pleasure short-lived, inconstant,
    to the welcome morning with its rays
    of kindness and bitter clarity

    open again to a thrill of hope,
    young limbs yearning to be entangled,
    to stern, hard-featured pain, also
    dying quickly with long shadows

    open all to the baptism of remorse,
    to the bewitching, shifting landscape,
    stars deep felt showing new, glow
    dark, hesitant, this night above all

    — with many words borrowed from William Cullen Bryant’s sonnet, Mutation, and one or two other sources.

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