When regret comes
with his stale breath
and tattered coat, arriving
at your door as he does
on the chillest night,
it is still easy to want
to close the door
and suggest he move
down the road. You know
if you let him in, he’ll ask
for your last glass of wine,
then wonder aloud
if you have any thread
to fix his overcoat, and
perhaps you know how
to sew? You guess
from that bottomless look
in his eye that no matter what
you do it will not be help enough.
Regret, you might say,
I’ll have none of you.
But you know he’ll come back,
next time with his dog,
its fleas, his flies.
Better, perhaps, to let him
in now. Offer him the wine.
Water, too. And when he says,
If only … then you might say,
I hear you. And when he says,
I wish … then you might say,
It’s not easy. Look him straight
in the eye. You both know
it’s true. He might cry.
It’s okay. You might cry, too.
And outside, the stars,
the stars do what stars
do. The night is cold,
he was right about that.
And the needle, it moves
through the threadbare wool,
your fingers sure of
every stitch.
Oh, so Wild Rose (http://ahundredfallingveils.com/2012/11/29/wild-rose-reads-tricycle-magazine/) has a brother, Regret. Well, if troubles come in threes, then there’s still yet another sibling we’re gonna have knocking on our door. (Or is Regret’s dog, the third trouble?)
Is it coincidence how reminiscent this poem is of Mary Oliver’s, When Death Comes? Regret and Death do keep close company, y’know. And look at the reader of the poem, stitching the overcoat back into all of a piece, with nary a regret, “fingers sure of every stitch.”
When I read it I had a hit of When Death Comes, too! Personifying the ones who visit us … Hugs to you, amigo mio r
light and dark, finely woven
you are certainly on a roll. wow.
“Who would prefer the jingle of jade pendants when once he has heard stone growing in a cliff?” Lao Tzu
The power of Poetry http://www.powerofpoetry.org
and
Red Thread Gold Thread http://www.redthreadgoldthread.com
Thanks, Alan, your opinion always matters to me
xo
r
The detail at the end of the needle, and what seems now a willingness to sew, is picked up so well from such a slight mention of the sewing up there in the 5th stanza. I was surprised it resonates so well as the closing, because it feels natural there, the focus on the work and not Regret.
I love the personification and call smell yet the foulness of his breath.
Oooh, that breath. Yeah. Guess you’ve met him, too? Xo r
But then the grace of your poetry purifies the air.