Welcome to 2023, dear digital friends!
As winter rages and wanes this odd January (55F in Upstate New York yesterday, so weird) this poem came to me as a byproduct of a rather vivid, snowy dream.
…My Grandma Conway’s voice was on a loop, repeating, “Remember to communicate.” My wife and I were being buried in holes next to each other, brown earth midst white snow, each dressed in altar-boy -white frocks. Our epitaphs read, Unforgiven: Murdered by Cruelty…
Brrrrr… gives me the chills just writing it down. We have been married 27+ years, and I am not sure anything scares me more than the death of our love.
The odds were stacked against us, too. Married at 25. Kids at 26. Lost in our urgency and passion and naivete, we outpaced our Gen X brethren by an average of 5-10 years.
But we listened to Grandma. And we listened to each other (her way better than me, admittedly). And did our best through the highs and lows to trust and communicate.
Knock on wood… so far so good! And I am thankful for dreams like the one above that remind me how blessed my life truly is with her in it.
Please enjoy this poem! As always, would love to hear your thoughts and feelings in the Comments Section below.
-PS Conway ☘️ ☘️ ☘️
☘️ ☘️ ☘️ ☘️ ☘️
soft spaces between cruelties
blizzards rage bleak throughout the night
snows fall with the finality
of sepulchers, smother the light
by sealing the silence within
our bedroom a tomb two bodies
lie, side by side, angry thoughts writhe
in unseen tempests midst the still
outside this sateen immobility
winter winds howl with revenant’s calls
love’s demise is nigh, final chance
to make amends… apologize
before gravedigger spades break ground
this point of perspicuity
your hand in mine, snows subside
reminds us of how to revive –
mend those soft spaces between cruelties
Love changes all cruelities… Beautiful
Indeed it does! Thanks so much, Anish. ❄️🙏🏻💕✨
Your poetry is deep, your dreams scary. Having watched the icy conditions in US from a cosy fireside in France, we witness the full force of climate change. No snow here, yet!
Your words describe circumstances beyond our control, how fragile life is, how precious love is. Beautiful.
Thank you 🙂🙏
Beautiful words, Sandie! Thank you, my friend… and yes, my subconscious mind can apparently be a turbulent place.. LOL. I am so jealous of that cosy fire in France… sounds amazing! Cheers 🥂 ❄️🙏🏻🌹✨
Oh Patrick that went right to the heart. I’ve been married for 47 years and in all that dear of our love disappearing has always haunted me. Now it’s my dear that one day he will pass away and though I will still love him he wouldn’t hear me tell him one more time.
Your Gran was right communication is the key. That and never let the sun set on an argument.
Wendy – thank you for taking the time to comment and being so open and vulnerable. I share similar fears and totally get where you’re coming from… tho 47 years is an absolute blessing! I hope we live so long as to enjoy the additional
richness that time must have brought you! Gran is smiling (big time) over your last comment, too. Cheers, my friend. ❄️🌹🙏🏻🍷✨
This is why we are told to never go to bed angry. It’s very important to make peace before you sleep because otherwise, who knows? You might wake up dead and stay angry forevermore? 😄
Ain’t that the truth, Naomi? Thanks for sharing your thoughts, my friend! Cheers ❄️🙏🏻🌹🍷✨
This poem hit home as I have often sat within that space between anger and apologies. “…apologize before gravedigger spades break ground…” So true!
I hear ya, PS! A wee bit of a cautionary tale embedded in the poem, eh? Cheers, my friend. 🙏🏻🌹🍷✨❄️
This poem is a bit scary as relationship’s can change so quickly – one minute so in love, the next so cross over some trivial matter. After 63 years of marriage I’ve learned that it’s a good idea to count to 10 and it really works.
Thanks for sharing your thoughts, Ann! Some sage advice to be sure. ❄️🙏🏻🌹🍷✨