Sometimes a person’s name
becomes so heavy around her neck
that the gravity of it pulls her down,
down into the snow drift, so far down,
syllables wrapped around buried stones,
that she cleaves it from her, expecting
blood, but there is only a sweet
emptiness where the name once was.
Such levity, she nearly floats above
the white bank. But you know what
happens to an empty space. Don’t
tell her. She is talking with the birds now,
and the sky. And the space
behind the sky.
Moment of Grace
January 29, 2013 by Rosemerry
“Down,” right word, right order. For me, it’s evoking both the direction and the goosely/ducky/snowy fluff.
And, ahhh, the lightness that comes from the relinquishment of a burden. But don’t tell what comes after, let the dream continue unimpeded and run its course; we’ll be brought back to earth soon enough.
Ha! I hadn’t even thought of the down reference! You’re such a great reader. I love what you bring to the poem. You do all my work for me!
“Don’t tell her” — just a clever turn away from the poem’s character to the reader, and that she’s talking to the birds…the sky…the space behind…those lines just make me want to leave her to her wider meditation.