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| Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash |
Pome is a newsletter by Matthew Ogle. He simply sends out a poem a day by a random poet. That's it.
As I say, simple. But I'm finding myself eagerly looking forward to each day's random poem.
This was a recent one that stuck:
Fiction
If I get the story right, my mother's grief will melt back into sand— just enough for a shoreline the size of her driveway. We could hold our shoes by their heels without talking. In this version, I know the password to leaven the latch of fingers wrapped around aluminum. I hold a compact mirror up to her nose to see the fog of the living. If I get the story right, a fog will settle over the shore and there will be no other place to look but at each other. Keith Leonard (2016) |
Yes, you need to read this one a few times. Yes, you need to invest a little effort. But its riches are eventually revealed. Or maybe it just gelled with my mood for the last week.
For me, poetry is a small window into the self. Because every reader sees something different in the images and references. And everyone's interpretation is right.
Mine is contingent on a few contextual facts. My mother passed away in 1983. It's still raw. One of my best friends passed away last week. It's still raw.
I love the title - Fiction. It's made up, open to interpretation, and one person's view. If I get the story right...uncertainty is always a factor. And there are always versions of truth in stories.
Mother's grief could be the actual grief of an actual mother grieving, or, as I saw it, it could be the grief associated with a mother's passing.
The ending, I love, because it is hopeful - breath becomes fog of the living and rather than grief it's looking into each other's eyes again.
Ah, a thing like that!
Love and peace. Me. Miss you mum. Miss you Margo.
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