Orion headless

Poetry, art, found objects

the stories we’ll tell

poetry by Holly Day

Thoughts on the Solstice

I’m so afraid of getting out of bed
In the middle of the night, and forgetting it’s winter
Of stepping outside in my nightclothes and slippers
And freezing to death out on the porch. And I know

It’s a silly thing to worry about
But children do it all the time, dream
Bright dreams of summer and of chasing butterflies
Only to fall through thin ice and drown in their sleep.

Why should I be any different?

The Time

how many years have to pass between us
before I can tell my husband how much I love him, how much
I truly need him to be here with me, how
every second we’re separated I think of him, think of the way he smells
tell him how I’d be dead without him beside me at night

of how often I think of the day we won’t be together, that I think about
the day I wake up and find him cold and stiff, how I imagine his face
will look when he wakes up to find me dead
the stories we’ll tell at each other’s funerals
how I imagine the silence of the house without him

how long do we have to be together before I can talk
frankly with him about love, and death, and what I want him to do
after me, the things I wish would go on without me
the things I plan to do when he’s gone.

 

One Response to “the stories we’ll tell” (post new)

  1.  

    Very accomplished and very moving poems.

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