Song to the dark lands

When I look through the trees at the park near our house they are all pretty much the same as when we started coming here—like me, a bit older but still the same, mostly unnoticed. And the kids were so small we kept them packaged in bundles whenever we went out, not much different than when they began, in the warm dark.

I read a poet’s last collection before he died, knowing he was close—hearing him work through it, making peace with his leaving: the rationale, it’s really a return. And now with the turning inward, all the poets come out like late summertime frogs and crickets, croaking, sawing their legs together, coaxing me to sleep…

The mountain ash’s orange fruit is now ready for the birds to harvest, and they leave the remains in the grass uneaten, the same way each year. I cut the last roses for the window sills and soon, we’ll move the patio furniture to the garage. The lake has gone gray again, and the trees a dark green. Poets die the same as anyone, they just talk about it more.

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
This entry was posted in death, prose, writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

19 Responses to Song to the dark lands

  1. Three lovely paragraphs. I have been thinking a lot lately about how we don’t talk much about death. It’s the thing we all face. It surrounds us. It is the one common denominator that we cannot change. Yet we don’t readily discuss it. At least not in this culture.

    Liked by 1 person

    • pinklightsabre says:

      I love talking death! Surely better than enduring it, I suppose. Ha! And blessed in its total abstractedness for now; different when in its company for sure. Enjoy the twilight, it’s coming on with a good, autumn breeze here and a camp fire! Bill

      Liked by 1 person

  2. That final line is, um… a killer.

    So tell me, William Pearse, how do you feel in/about Winter?

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Now, I am becoming such a huge fan of you writing and you make the poem eternally alive. Kudos for this fab piece 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Who was the soon-to-be-dead poet?

    Liked by 1 person

  5. rossmurray1 says:

    In a somber mood. “Poets die the same as anyone, they just talk about it more.” Or maybe they just talk about it better.

    Liked by 1 person

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