Monday September 20th, 2010

The exercise:

Let's write about: the long wait.

That could apply to a couple things in my life right now, but the wait I was thinking of ended at dinner tonight. Last summer we were forced back to Vancouver before they turned, and this year they came ready much later than usual due to the colder than normal weather.

But at last, at last we got to try one tonight. And, unsurprisingly, our red peppers are frickin' sensational.

Mine:

It sits empty,
Day after day;
Wind, rain, or shine,
It stays that way.

Maybe today
Will bring the end -
Haven't enough
Days passed, my friend?

But the postman
Carries no news,
So this long wait
Still continues.

4 Comments:

Greg said...

Yay for before and after pictures of the cabin!
I like peppers, yours sound enticing! I have two recently acquired chili pepper plants that are just starting to produce, so now I can hope that they're good too. It does sound like yours were worth the wait though.
I like the sense of impatient melancholy you create with your poem, I can empathize with that! I also like the hint of mystery with you never telling us what's remaining empty.

The long wait

The hands on the face
Of Eternity's clock
Have rusted away into dust.
The stars that twinkled
To light the way
Have died, as all stars must.

Something is stirring now
Within the lightless void
Something ancient and ageless,
Something late and annoyed.

Fimbulwinter starting
Has ended an
Aeons-long wait.
Something terrible
Is resuming its throne:
This is now mankind's fate.

Marc said...

Really, really fantastic first stanza.

Liked the rest as well, but I'm a real big fan of that first one :)

Heather said...

Marc- I like the poem. My mailman comes bringing empty news all too often. I really wish he'd keep the materials or take the time to recycle it for me.

Greg- Love, love, love that first stanza. Very moving.
------
I felt like a tea pot, tipped this way and that, emptying my hot emotions into any available cup, and then set back down to simmer some more. How could this have happened? How could they have lost my son? Combing through the details made the little hope I had of seeing him before the next day evaporate into little steam clouds. My anger and frustration continued to rise like mercury in a thermometer. I was ready to blow the whistle and bring the inept airline into the limelight. I'd serve them up brewed, but without sugar or cream.

Then he called, my sweet little boy. "Mommy?" he said. "The lady told me to tell you we are on the right plane now and will see you in an hour." With those few words, my anger dissipated and I knew the long wait was almost over.

Marc said...

Great tea pot metaphor, I think it works perfectly. And I am fond of a happy ending, so thumbs up from me :)