Tuesday, March 12, 2013

The Sparse Woman

Sparse, petit, wispy and shy
Hidden in those shady corners,
Of my half unconscious years
Beside an aspen and a red ash

I never remember her otherwise,
But somehow, always, situated there
Like a bandwidth, slightly, off range
Being corrected by the original touch

I passed it once more, like ever other day
I had hurried passed, without a thought
Without a glance, without looking back
For never was there any reason for delay

Until that grainy morning one early May
I passed through ways leading to familiar way
From pre-arranged house to pre-ordained street
With the unchanging facades there to kindly greet

And followed that course, known or understood
By neither an animal’s occluded native instinct
Or by the circumscribed mind of civilised man
And so it was, on Station Road, a gap opened

Between those critical differences and deviations
From the ordinary, the banal, the ever same,
A gap opened, not too widely, but just enough
Was revealed against an insensate and unthinking

World, And you where there, A Sunflower
Amongst all the Sunflowers in purest yellow,
Singing to yourself, a song surely not for yourself?
In that glowing Garden, all the commuters rush by

And so I remembered you this May day
Years many pasted, not as a sparse women,
Slowly unfolding her last flowers to the Earth,
But as a beauty, it’s still quite easy to imagine.