A Rehearsal

And I, who am always silent in love,
gaze at vista's that you would never see,
I do not shout or holler,
I recall quiet pleasures
even in the noisiness of joining.

I see vivid flowers in pots,
a silly cropped top
and flowered skirts,
when a belly button
was just that
and was it in and was it out?

I ride on tops of busses
cram myself onto hot Métro's
the man with the garlic breath
who nearly asphyxiated me,
I counted stops
then ran to breathe carbonated air.

I take associations,
the steps outside the Sorbonne,
the smell of gitanes
black cherries, spitting pits
the orchestra
and a twisted ankle in the rain.

I have no need of noise,
I am silent, I have no pen to score
I quietly conduct my own melodies,
recall my angular bones
as fluid, we moved,
ours was the stage
our best performance,
a strangely wonderful rehearsal.



Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 917 times
Written on 2015-05-20 at 20:45

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
A great swirl of memories, like dry leaves caught in an updraft. It's beautifully written, of course.
2015-05-23


Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
Very nice reminiscences. The rehearsals of your life.
2015-05-22


Chaucer Whethers The PoetBay support member heart!
Beautifully composed metrospective redolent with lit nuance x
2015-05-21


one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
this reminds me of my friend, who is quiet, yet seems to see and hear with enviable sensitivity, and her life is richer for it. i love the associations, also the subtle references to your inclinations.
2015-05-21