Reasons I Hate Winter

Cherry

By Silver Spun Sand

Sun, 25 Jan 2015
  • 1066 reads
6 comments
 
“Time’s a great healer...don’t dwell
on the past; move on. There’s a life
to be lived out there,” they said,
so pack away his T shirt, smells
of woodbine, and petrol, pine-cones
smouldering on a fire.
 
Put the book back in the drawer – 
the one I was reading him, albeit
on his ‘good days’; the last chapter –
never finished. 
 
Bin a ‘to do’ list, in his florid script
buried deep in a pocket of his coat –
smelt of snowball fights – the slow jazz
of the River Café, on a lazy,
Sunday afternoon.  
 
Stop beating myself up over a note
he left, in its shell-pink envelope
telling me goodbye; the one I can’t 
bring myself to open, even though
it was four winters ago.
 
Give up imagining his toes kiss mine
in bed at night...that he’ll be here, 
when I get home from work...crack
me up with a way-out kipper tie on, 
kidding me it’s quite the latest thing
in fashion.
 
Strike winter from my diary...when
we first made out beneath the trees –
pencil-etched on a canvas of blueberry sky, 
and when I wrote him, from then on,
he’d always reply with a fallen leaf
pressed between the lines.
 
Apollinaire, wasn’t it, who said,
‘Memories are hunting horns, 
whose sound dies on the wind’? 
 
Forgive me for saying he couldn’t
have been more wrong; they are
but he alone... and his cornet
of the soprano kind; silver-tongued 
songs, stronger still, unwinding
from my mind.
Certificate 12
Poem
Silver Spun Sand Poems
Spiritual
Nature
Love

Comments

Submitted by london_calling79 on

'Good days' is such a haunting phrase. It's filled with the feeling of its opposite. Beautifully written as always.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thanks, lc.  Appreciated, more than.

Tina

 

Submitted by Philip Sidney on

I had to stop halfway through and start again, you really know how to evoke powerful feelings. January, nearly done, then half of February for me, getting there.

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Appreciated, Philip. 

Tina

 

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

It seems to start of as a cry of depression, but somehow twists into such detailed and sweet memories, hurting, but special and precious too. No-one moves on by forgetting the past, do they? Rhiannon

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

No they don't Rhiannon, most defintely.

Thank you for your interpretation.  As ever, spot on.

Tina