I just wrote this. It came from a vivid dream I had last night. I hope you have a beautiful evening. Enjoy the poem...there is a softness to the rhythm, purposefully. And a careful choice of words that punches the emotion. A little secret place in my tricky brain. Actually, there is no separation. My life = my craft. XO, C.A.
The Air That Surrounds You
There you are, in the crowd,
wearing a red T-shirt. In a mess
of cross-style sitting strangers,
you are the only one standing tall,
your long arms hanging loose,
your hands making slight fists.
Around you, a foot of yellow,
glowing space graces each side
of your form. And this is the air
that always surrounds your shape.
You are smiling wide, your dark hair
barely reaching your shoulders.
Freshly shaven, your pale cheeks
spotlight-shine. And you are looking
up. This time, you move. This time,
you hold up your hand, furiously
waving. But even then, you forget
to blink. And from the stage, struck
by the stare, in the middle of two
difficult words, I stop speaking.
Like always, my breath turns
guttural, a seemingly solid pant,
a trapped, warm, familiar ache,
a sky-stuck moon sliver of light
caught in a crevice
deep inside my left
breast.
C.A. MacConnell