Synthesis

[ellajam]

Edit #1

Sleepless: eyes closed,
the open arms of an elm tree,
a mime show of shadows
spreading across mother’s rose
colored kitchen walls.

Each memory a cedar closet:
notebooks of unwritten poems,
a tin of icebox cookies baked
back in Wisconsin; dead limbs
of a winter birch in the side yard,
and father, as he lay dying:
femur, blood, urine; nothing
working, not even his dark sleep.

I dreamed about the strength
of this man’s trunk; his language,
his energy, the way his colors changed
year-to-year.

Who dreams about love
with an old year sputtering,
a new year tip-toeing in?

I wonder if he ever dreamed
at all?

I never asked.



Original

No one sleeps
they are, at least,
restless: eyes closed,
the open arms
of an elm tree,
a mime show
of shadows
spreading across
rose colored
kitchen walls

Who dreams
about love
with an old year
sputtering,
a new year
tip-toeing in?

Any memory is
a cedar closet:
notebooks
of unwritten
poems,
a tin of icebox
cookies baked
back in Wisconsin;
the dead limbs
of the winter birch
in the side yard
the dead limbs
of father as he lay
dying: femur, blood,
urine; nothing
working, not even
his dark sleep

I dreamed
about the strength
of this man’s trunk;
his language,
his energy,
the way his color
changed
year-to-year

As he lay dying,
I wonder if
he ever dreamed
at all?

I never asked.

Ah, thank you, it is now a poem to sink into. I'm enjoying the changes, great work moving the "who dreams" lines down, they have real purpose now. Effective choice of breaks, there is a solidity now without a loss of dreaminess. I enjoyed the surprise of "mother's rose". If you're of a mind to it might be interesting to attempt Tom's suggestion of longer lines to see if you can distill it even further. But lovely as is.

In response to your reply to my crit: Yes, living in the changing seasons is a gift unwrapped each day, well worth the snow-shoveling and log-splitting. And I am hung up on where my own periods sit, it's just yours I don't run after.

Well done, thanks for the read.