Just Yesterday

Just yesterday, you said even the wretched moon, always
knows she has to leave, her veil trapped by the gaze of an

uncaring sun, and that wind, clinging for a moment to oak
limbs is only gathering her skirts to run, yet I hear them argue

in the grainy twilight, blaming each other for inconstancy,
for caprice, until they stop for a moment, eyes purple with

remembering, like an odalisque on shifting sands – the music,
silenced a long time ago, only the echo stumbling alone through

the silver desert for all eternity. Maybe love too wants to be held
even as it yearns to be free, a perverse atheism that secretly hopes

for the redemption of a wordless faith. Just yesterday, you spoke
of impossibility, as if it were certain, like a god, like the paradox

that rustles the way a virgin pirouettes in the darkest night, a point, 
a whirl, a fleeting forever that the sky knows it can never have.

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21 thoughts on “Just Yesterday

  1. I agree with Jae, this poem is dreamy, Rajani. I love the sound and feel of the pirouette in:
    ‘….that rustles the way a virgin pirouettes in the darkest night, a point,
    a whirl, a fleeting forever that the sky knows it can never have’.

    Like

  2. You employ the best line breaks! For example, “her veil trapped by the gaze of an” … becomes “her veil trapped by the gaze oven,” which I adore. It tells me someone’s veil (and all it symbolizes) is caught in a hot stare — hopefully her husband’s. 😛

    “clinging for a moment to oak” … And here, that interesting line breaks make me consider “oak” as a verb, and all that would entail.

    I love this: “blaming each other for inconstancy”

    Ooh, gorgeous … and sad, as if they’re malnourished (anemic) … and/or bruised: “until they stop for a moment, eyes purple”

    Love this: “remembering, like an odalisque” … I’m not familiar with that word (and have now looked it up), so I read it by sound, “Odd Alice, k … que/what?” This, to me, means that the husband sees his wife as an Alice in Wonderland and has trouble making sense of her strange talk and wandering.

    “on shifting sands – the music” … I love the idea of music, perhaps wedding music, being played and then sinking into the sand (of memory, of forgetfulness, of storage; I don’t know, time will tell … ooh, it’s an hourglass of quicksand).

    My word, this is good: “Maybe love too wants to be held
    even as it yearns to be free, a perverse atheism that secretly hopes”

    Sheesh. Stellar writing, girl.

    Oh, goodness, the imagery in that last couplet blows my mind. So what if the dancing girl can only be held by the sky if the sky itself becomes a music box. A music box whose music is captured by that invisible quicksand hourglass. And isn’t a music box secretly a cage? I mean, when it’s open, it’s a stage of sorts. A presentation box. Hands holding her up. But when it closes on her head, she’s trapped … or held, depending on what she perceives. But maybe it only closes around her when she’s sleepy, so she can rest in knowing it’s actually trying to protect her … think about how many toddlers would like to pluck her out and break her. No music then …

    Sorry for going on so, but this really sucked me in …

    Like

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