What if I could tell you about the day? Six Crows Snow, by PD Lyons


Six Crows Snow

What if I could tell you about the day?
The first real snow, crows huddled in the grey fingers of that tree,
watching as if waiting for something I didn’t have to give.
What if you were here? Then you’d say, “I don’t really understand it.”
So I’d write a few more lines so that you’d know
it’s just a sad thing like my needing to pretend I’m not alone.
What if I could tell you, that winter poem you wrote?
I hung copies of it up on the bedroom wall, the back door, the horses’ stalls, along the straight wire fluttering like little white flags between the paddocks and the pasture.
Oh if you were here I know what you would say, you never liked it anyway, kept it only out of loyalty that poem you tried to write for me reads now like some accidental prophecy the one you called :

Samhain
someday I will return to you
there on the meadow hill
where crisp wind turns your hair to faerie knots.
I will return meeting you there
once more take you in my arms
have you nestle against my shoulder
whisper kisses against my neck
wrap you in my long green coat
turning up the collar to the wind.
And it will be the crows of October
hesitate from rummaging the old corn rows as if knowing your sigh.
and I too my dear the need in me rising, escapes as sound
perhaps heard by red deer who for a moment raise their heads from sunset grazing –

there where I first loved you one night how long ago?
the moon full and silver lit your body
as if you were of warm alabaster liquid made
in soft slate grey your shadow face, your O shaped mouth,
your turned up eyes, white reflecting silver from the moon
as you rose above me.
.
somewhere in that night, in some timeless point I woke.
dew had covered us, stood like tiny diamonds on my coat,
stars so clear I could hear their sparkling as if in one long held breath
while you, in your sleep were smiling
and because I thought compared to this I had never known true beauty
I cried in that quiet time between the worlds.

I will return to you.
I will once more take you in my arms
have you nestle against my shoulder
whisper kisses against my neck
wrap you in my long green coat
turning up the collar to the wind –
then hold you away, just enough to look into your eyes
and at the sight of your crooked little smile
I will laugh and you will know
Yes! he has returned.
But what if you were really here, what would I say?
Tell you about the day, the first real snow,
crows huddled in the grey fingers of that tree,
watching, waiting, as if for something I didn’t have to give…

 

 

From Searches For Magic by PD Lyons published by Lapwing, Belfast, c2000

https://books.google.ie/books?id=nKbrRvuIw-oC&printsec=frontcover&dq=searches+for+magic&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0CCcQ6AEwAWoVChMIqseXtNilxwIV8BTbCh2Iwgah#v=onepage&q=searches%20for%20magic&f=false

 

 

 

 

 

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Comments

  • Donna J Snyder  On August 15, 2015 at 4:42 am

    Each time I read this I cry.

    I begin thinking I can read it for pleasure only. But then it captures me. I feel it. And I cry.

    Liked by 1 person

    • pdlyons  On August 15, 2015 at 4:37 pm

      I know. did you see how that poem you thought you didn’t send me prompted my choice to blog this? on g+

      Like

      • Donna J Snyder  On August 16, 2015 at 4:10 am

        Mysterious

        I used to love versions of I Put a Spell on you. Your poem has the magic, the passion, the ineluctable power of the forces at hand, but transcends the gut level, rut level, good god damn level of that old song.

        Like

      • pdlyons  On August 16, 2015 at 6:57 pm

        Like

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