Waiting for May


The oak becomes black filigree
in the white of moonlight.
Its vacant arms,
carved as intricate as a dream,
basking, stretching, reaching,
crawling their distortions,
their altered ebony,
across the path,
the lawn,
the curtained glass and cooling bricks.

At night absence gapes,
where life should be,
where silence roams.

I am suspended, dormant as the oak,
waiting to move, yet not wanting to leave.
The stasis of grief.
I wait for May.

Linking this to the Sunday Muse Blog Spot which this week features Fireblossom/Shay’s Word Garden Word List. (http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/). Easter holds very sad memories for me which sometimes seeps into my poems.

22 thoughts on “Waiting for May

  1. This is absolutely incredible. Every line. What brilliant writing.

    I am especially crazy about:
    “crawling their distortions,
    their altered ebony”

    Liked by 1 person

  2. So beautiful. The absences in between the branches are very touching and the feeling of being rooted but wanting to grow. Bravo. One to return to. I’ve added it to my chap book. 👏👏

    Liked by 1 person

  3. There is so much sadness, death and emptiness in the world around us–I feel your response here, trying to understand it, or at least endure it with the hope of change ahead. This is beautiful, almost delicate writing, and I too especially like the stanza that includes ‘altered ebony…” It paints the picture vividly.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I prefer April over May although October is my fave. April is fresh and springy, May seems tired and dreary. October holds my birthday and Halloween.

    Liked by 1 person

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