How Will Evening Come?

[ZHamilton]

Floorboards in flashbacks pop like 
ice cubes underfoot. 
You pull your robe up against the cold
And stretch your fingers toward the fire. 
How did we get here, after all these years? 

And how will evening come? 

In this cabin where snow aches and presses at the windows 
hungry days stretch cold under the Northern Winter sun.
I ask myself, “How will evening Come?” 

From Spring’s red breast the river spills,
swollen,
stretching to touch your feet.
You lay back, laughing
and I ask myself, 
“How will evening come?” 

The weight of the Summer sky falls heavy on the West wall. 
Throws shadows on the porch. 
Where your children will play. One day. 
On the swing where I sit and watch
the shadows grow longer. 
Darkening the larches across the valley. 

I ask myself, as I often have, “How will evening come?” 
The sunless sky answers. 
There is, for now, silence.
I hold the letter with both hands-  as I often have- . 
sheltering it from the rising wind.

[TranquillityBase]

Floorboards in flashbacks pop like 
ice cubes underfoot. 
You pull your robe up against the cold
And stretch your fingers toward the fire. 
How did we get here, after all these years? 

And how will evening come? 

In this cabin where snow aches and presses at the windows 
hungry days stretch cold under the Northern Winter sun.
I ask myself, “How will evening Come?” 

From Spring’s red breast the river spills,
swollen,
stretching to touch your feet.
You lay back, laughing
and I ask myself, 
“How will evening come?” 

The weight of the Summer sky falls heavy on the West wall. 
Throws shadows on the porch. 
Where your children will play. One day. 
On the swing where I sit and watch
the shadows grow longer. 
Darkening the larches across the valley. 

I ask myself, as I often have, “How will evening come?” 
The sunless sky answers. 
There is, for now, silence.
I hold the letter with both hands-  as I often have- . 
sheltering it from the rising wind.

I really enjoy re-reading this one.  The letter introduces mystery at the very end.  I have mixed feelings about that, but also think it is a most powerful ending.  

If there are sections you have doubts about, let me know and I'll see what I think.  Otherwise, nice job 

TqB

[Mark A Becker]

Hi Z-
Since you already have the question in the title, I don't know that you need to repeat it again until that last stanza.
That said, some in-line comments:

Floorboards in flashbacks pop  suggest breaking on 'pop'
like ice cubes underfoot.  really good opening image
You pull your robe up against the cold
And stretch your fingers toward the fire.
How did we get here, after all these years?

In this cabin where snow aches  suggest breaking on 'aches'
and presses at the windows
hungry days stretch cold under suggest breaking on 'under'
the Northern Winter sun.  I really like the images in this section

From Spring’s red breast the river  suggest breaking on 'river'
spills, swollen,
stretching to touch your feet.
You lay back, laughing  suggest filling out this stanza

The weight of the Summer sky suggest breaking on 'sky'
falls heavy on the West wall.
Throws shadows on the porch,  should be a comma instead of a period
where your children will play. One day.
On the swing where I sit and watch
the shadows grow longer, should be a comma instead of a period
darkening the larches across the valley.

I ask myself, as I often have,
“How will evening come?” 
The sunless sky answers.
There is, for now, silence.
I hold the letter with both hands-  suggest breaking on 'hands'
as I often have-
sheltering it from the rising wind.  strong ending- implies many possibilities

As you can see, most of my suggestions pertain to line breaks.  This one is more effective for me if the title question is only posed once within the poem.  You use enough concrete imagery to keep it interesting, as well.

Thanks Z,
Mark 

[ZHamilton]

Floorboards in flashbacks pop like 
ice cubes underfoot. 
You pull your robe up against the cold
And stretch your fingers toward the fire. 
How did we get here, after all these years? 

And how will evening come? 

In this cabin where snow aches and presses at the windows 
hungry days stretch cold under the Northern Winter sun.
I ask myself, “How will evening Come?” 

From Spring’s red breast the river spills,
swollen,
stretching to touch your feet.
You lay back, laughing
and I ask myself, 
“How will evening come?” 

The weight of the Summer sky falls heavy on the West wall. 
Throws shadows on the porch. 
Where your children will play. One day. 
On the swing where I sit and watch
the shadows grow longer. 
Darkening the larches across the valley. 

I ask myself, as I often have, “How will evening come?” 
The sunless sky answers. 
There is, for now, silence.
I hold the letter with both hands-  as I often have- . 
sheltering it from the rising wind.

I really enjoy re-reading this one.  The letter introduces mystery at the very end.  I have mixed feelings about that, but also think it is a most powerful ending.  

If there are sections you have doubts about, let me know and I'll see what I think.  Otherwise, nice job 

TqB

Thanks, TqB. I appreciate the comment regarding the ending. It was probably the part I had the biggest question about. Didn't want it to feel like sleight of hand. 

Since you offered, I'll take you up on a question: I'm considering revising the last stanza to read: 

"I ask myself, as I often have, “How will evening come?” 
The silent sky answers. 
There is, for now, silence.
I hold the letter with both hands-  as I often have- . 
sheltering it from the rising wind."

Perhaps keeps the imagery and tightens the phrasing? 

-Z

---

Hi Z-
Since you already have the question in the title, I don't know that you need to repeat it again until that last stanza.
That said, some in-line comments:

Floorboards in flashbacks pop  suggest breaking on 'pop'
like ice cubes underfoot.  really good opening image
You pull your robe up against the cold
And stretch your fingers toward the fire.
How did we get here, after all these years?

In this cabin where snow aches  suggest breaking on 'aches'
and presses at the windows
hungry days stretch cold under suggest breaking on 'under'
the Northern Winter sun.  I really like the images in this section

From Spring’s red breast the river  suggest breaking on 'river'
spills, swollen,
stretching to touch your feet.
You lay back, laughing  suggest filling out this stanza

The weight of the Summer sky suggest breaking on 'sky'
falls heavy on the West wall.
Throws shadows on the porch,  should be a comma instead of a period
where your children will play. One day.
On the swing where I sit and watch
the shadows grow longer, should be a comma instead of a period
darkening the larches across the valley.

I ask myself, as I often have,
“How will evening come?” 
The sunless sky answers.
There is, for now, silence.
I hold the letter with both hands-  suggest breaking on 'hands'
as I often have-
sheltering it from the rising wind.  strong ending- implies many possibilities

As you can see, most of my suggestions pertain to line breaks.  This one is more effective for me if the title question is only posed once within the poem.  You use enough concrete imagery to keep it interesting, as well.

Thanks Z,
Mark 

Thanks, Mark. The input on line breaks is helpful. And I see your point regarding removing all but one of the instances of the title line. I appreciate the close read! Now time to edit...

[rowens]

Floorboards in flashbacks pop like 

The floorboards and flashbacks must combine in some way not sonically

ice cubes underfoot. 
You pull your robe up against the cold

The icecubes some way to meet the robe

And stretch your fingers toward the fire. 
How did we get here, after all these years? 

And how will evening come? 

Questions like this are hardwon in poetry

In this cabin where snow aches and presses at the windows 
hungry days stretch cold under the Northern Winter sun.
I ask myself, “How will evening Come?” 


The stanza above is smothered in details that don't carry line to line

From Spring’s red breast the river spills,
swollen,
stretching to touch your feet.
You lay back, laughing
and I ask myself, 
“How will evening come?” 


Two S sounds can be sacrificed. 
? From Redbreast, the river swells

The weight of the Summer sky falls heavy on the West wall. 
Throws shadows on the porch. 
You lay back, laughing
and I ask myself, 




Where your children will play. One day. 
On the swing where I sit and watch
the shadows grow longer. 
Darkening the larches across the valley. 

I ask myself, as I often have, “How will evening come?” 
The sunless sky answers. 
There is, for now, silence.
I hold the letter with both hands-  as I often have- . 
sheltering it from the rising wind.





That's mild examples, huh?

---

From Redbreast, the river swells.

The weight of summer falls
heavy, the west wall throws
shadows on the porch.

---

Don't ask me. I don't know.

---

Where your children will play. One day.
From the swing, I watch
the shadowed larches across the valley.

Ask myself, as I often have,
“How will evening come?”
There is, for now, no answer.
I hold the letter with both hands,
sheltering it from the rising wind.

---

Floorboards crack, flash, like