Tuesday, December 28, 2010

For the two of you


All those times now long ago
When my young fingers ran along the curtain folds,
Searching for that airy slit
To slip away from the frightening role
Carved and etched into the wood
Of our travelling chest that is painted maroon.

Dear love did you know even then
though you were barely twenty-one
My heart had come to wait upon
The sound of your solo applause;
A steady clap coming out of the dark
After each closing scene.

All those star-strewn black skies now gone
That hung like umbrellas
Above my childlike thoughts.
My small leaning back against the yellow balcony bars
And I a barefoot voyager on deck
Desired shores of warm, dry ground.

But instead I awake in a story book land
Drawn here by the little crawling guide
Whose forehead against my shoulder leans
And his restless knees upon my lap
Becomes the constant draw
That leads to my cheerful stay.

Sitting here this night my fingers conduct
A lively dance of three:
One pair of quick wood needles and a ball of green wool.
I travel through stage curtains and starry umbrellas
Then return home to the onward swinging knit,
And to the two of you.

I think often of our old paintbrush holder
Who sits unseen and in a gallery antique;
He spreads colours and coats on canvas pages
Of beautiful books that tell the tale of our lives
And places each one in our travelling chest
That is painted maroon.



A poem for the boys
written on quiet Epiphany nights
following Christmas day.


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