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  Learning to Spin Straw


In bed, inside this room as shelter
from rain and the world,
after explosions less destructive
than the soft unfolding of flowers,
I think of bulbs under the earth
all through the waiting winter, how I
laid them in like buying clothes
for children not yet born, planning
with confidence on edge of arrogance.

I don't mind a future in the rain,
so tell me your life in black and white.
Blanc et noir, heavy cream blanket
over our knees and you whisper
all your past despair to me
like dark walnuts dropping into water,
each cleaved contour rippling thrust.
My fingers trace your skin, again.
You're not quite sure I'm listening.

Are you afraid I'll leave
or if I stay, that painted
pentacles and seahorses, spiral
galaxies will prism your walls?
Dripping Shiraz on soft Shiraz
ruby, camel, blue, dripping
candle wax, ice-cream, the last
of the rain, beloved, let the sun
gild over our skin and hair.


~ Delilah Riordan, 24 May, 2000

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(Site last updated 08 December, 2008)

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