Looking for reasons to justify
my anger with you, I found instead
a silver handle without
a pitcher, the scent of peonies,
a bush of ripened berries and a hum.
Is it any wonder my hands forgot
how to fight? That missing
pitcher filled with spring water,
that is what my silence wants
to say to your silence. And
that ripeness, that is what
my hands long to bring to yours.
The missing pitcher is an interesting image, though it’s a little slippery for me to understand. I think I hear the water, not the pitcher, but the ripeness is full and clear (as might be the spring water:>).
Having, earlier today, been (once again) betrayed by someone of trust, I’m feeling this poem. I’m not wanting my silence to be found spring water to theirs—not yet. But maybe someday. Maybe soon?
Oh, Eduardo, I am sorry to hear of the betrayal.
This poem was less about betrayal for me and more about me wanting to blame someone else for something to take the blame off of myself. Not sure I could be so generous, either, with the spring water 🙂 Sending you hugs and hoping that healing happens genuinely,
Xoxo r
From: “comment-reply@wordpress.com” Reply-To: Date: Tuesday, June 23, 2015 at 3:43 AM To: Rosemerry Trommer Subject: [A Hundred Falling Veils] Comment: “Sidetracked, I Remember Something”
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