June Skies

the tea is smelling of ginger
and cardamom, sickly sweet,
the kind she likes in the morning,
that whispers in her ear
tells her to write about disappearing horizons
about absent birds, puddles stolen from cloistered skies,
the way the summer births this deluge
and slips away, leaving the monsoon
screaming in her hands,

an unlikely mother
bent like a cold question in a still damp watercolour,
she writes of cold toes and wrinkled skin
of a song about a long ago downpour
that sounds like a lullaby,
of smudged eyes and leaching tears,
of a chipped cup from which
the grey wind stops to drink,
four a.m. The darkness shivers,
it is raining again.

she writes of a sun that was,
of the way the light used to be.

30 thoughts on “June Skies

  1. the rich imagery makes the reader ponder the title – grasping at so many fabulous phrases, not least:
    “a cold question in a still damp watercolour,”

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  2. Beautiful despite the darkness. I love the startling, vivid, ‘leaving the monsoon / screaming in her hands’. (I wrote about rain too, but a less fierce aspect.)

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    1. Thanks Rosemary… the monsoon will be around for a few more months, so it will leave its grey mark on much of what I write. Hopefully more gentle at some point!!!

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  3. “she writes of cold toes and wrinkled skin/of a song about a long ago downpour/that sounds like a lullaby” : Ah, the emotions pour out with the rains, and must it leave behind but a certain puddle to reflect upon and the freshness of the breeze – the clime is parallel to the state of mind and vice versa. You portray these ideas so beautifully with delicate imagery and such deep understanding.

    Over here, I am eagerly waiting for the rains, and to get some respite from the strong sun and the sandstorms.

    -HA

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    1. Thanks Anmol. The monsoon is a mirror..however murky and grey! Still haven’t had real rain..overcast, sputtering and pretending it’s the real thing!

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  4. My goodness such raw and tangible emotion in this, sigh especially struck by; “tells her to write about disappearing horizons about absent birds, puddles stolen from cloistered skies,the way the summer births this deluge and slips away, leaving the monsoon screaming in her hands.” Beautifully executed!

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  5. “…of a chipped cup from which / the grey wind stops to drink…”. Just beautiful. The title sort of threw me, because in my part of the world, June skies are clear and sunny. It took me a minute to remember that it is monsoon season where you live.

    PS. Be sure to stop by and see what wonderful comments you’re getting on the poem I reblogged. I think you’ll gain some new followers.

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    1. Thank you Sarah… it is a grey grey monsoon season…beautiful mostly though it throws daily life out of gear. Was delighted to see comments left by your readers. They are so kind. I know Ryan’s work though.. intense and gripping.

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