Evening was spying from the apple orchard
the first time I opened my eyes
under Great-Grandma's turquoise afghan
I heard my parents dancing in the kitchen.
A little later, Grandma would announce evening
across the yards to end our game
one out, two on and the inning was over
in a dash to clean our hands before Grace.
Evening became an exotic land;
the home of sex and sin and petty vandalism
to be invaded by silly boys armed with hormones
looking for something pretty to hold on to.
Evening starts when I put my briefcase down.
We share it with the salad bowl and laughter.
It is the safest place I know
in our golden little home.
The sound of evening is in my daydreams
in the muttering of its nightclub clientele
beneath a boozy saxophone and cocktail clinks.
It sounds like sequins and purple.
Evening will wait outside the church
when my son carries me on his shoulder
past the bagpiper and into St. Rose's.
Bury me in turquoise and strike up the band.
(this poem was written for the "One Single Impression Prompt #153: Evening")
the first time I opened my eyes
under Great-Grandma's turquoise afghan
I heard my parents dancing in the kitchen.
A little later, Grandma would announce evening
across the yards to end our game
one out, two on and the inning was over
in a dash to clean our hands before Grace.
Evening became an exotic land;
the home of sex and sin and petty vandalism
to be invaded by silly boys armed with hormones
looking for something pretty to hold on to.
Evening starts when I put my briefcase down.
We share it with the salad bowl and laughter.
It is the safest place I know
in our golden little home.
The sound of evening is in my daydreams
in the muttering of its nightclub clientele
beneath a boozy saxophone and cocktail clinks.
It sounds like sequins and purple.
Evening will wait outside the church
when my son carries me on his shoulder
past the bagpiper and into St. Rose's.
Bury me in turquoise and strike up the band.
(this poem was written for the "One Single Impression Prompt #153: Evening")
What becomes of evening over time-as we change, it changes. Strike up the band now.
ReplyDeleteThis was so beautiful. The first two stanzas were my favourites.
ReplyDeleteLoved the concept used to write this poem.
Sorry for the late reply. I didn't mean to be so rude. Thank you Sandy adn Aayushi for reading and for your comments.
ReplyDeleteOh how lovely, I can remember this kind of experience myself!
ReplyDelete