The Interim
As kids, we were always passing through
some phase we knew would soon be gone—
and never soon enough. The sad blue
hours lasted longer then; it’s true
that time accelerates, till one
day, you find that all your days are through.
The trick is to avidly pursue
life as though its ending were unknown,
& not let the breathless hourglass throw
your humor. A dream we’re passing through,
no one knows what it means, whether to frown
or laugh. The gulf that seems to separate you
is an illusion, an untrue
condition that feels as real as rain,
but isn’t—try breathing in & through
to a still place that asks who are you,
really? A grace that arose from bone,
obscure genius, just passing through
an attempt to unite our two
natures, the seen and the unseen,
a kaleidoscope of every hue,
the arc we are just passing through.
***
Springtime in the Universe
…was the name of the program at the planetarium
in the physics department where my father was employed,
helped put it together—matched images to the score,
Tomita’s Mellotron wobbling chords of Clair de lune,
momentous & metallic in outer space—
I would reverse the tape on the silver reel to reel
in our living room again and again, knew exactly how far
to rewind to hear it once more—a reverb of soaring light
and cosmic wind across an expanse of galaxies
like dancing snowflakes—(at three or four, perhaps
my earliest memory) Afterward in the Opel Caravan
with wraparound glass—steel blue like clouds
of dust and gas that coalesce into stars—
the whole way home I couldn’t stop crying—
Finally my parents pulled over to ask,
What has you so upset?
They seemed so far away,
but persisted until I told them—
the sun will burn out—
They laughed—
that will happen
in the distant future—
not understanding
that it made no difference.
***
Blue October
Lost this month—you—
then your sweet old cats, two.
Their worn bones knew
they would no longer be seeing you.
They say things come in threes.
With these, I’m hoping for a reprieve
from death, at least for now…
the autumn sky has never been more blue.
***
Siesta
Likely learned from the animals—
or rather, something we do
because we are animals too—
how to lie down in the shade,
stretch out a leg on which to rest
a chin, sit still and ruminate
quietly, chew complexities
a second time to break them down
to digestible, be nourished
by reflection and integrate
events so that we may resume,
renewed, being in the flow of time.
Rachel White’s poetry has appeared in journals and anthologies, on the radio, in the liner notes of a classical pianist’s album, and in a chapbook, The Velvet Earth After Rain, published by Moon in the Rye Press. Most recently, Rachel co-founded and edits a literary magazine, The Nomad at the-nomad.org.
Love these!!
The interim is a special piece!