So we sit incubating
in our Buddha armchairs,
pyjama-minded,
souls myopic to the
winter tumbling through
windows onto rugs,
swallowing our feet
as we undo the stitches
and cast the needles again
under glorious atemporal
blankets of ice.
Sometimes I look at the post count and realize that it's OH MY GOD ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FIVE POSTS.
But anyways...
3 comments:
This could come off as serene or really aggressive and I enjoy the ambiguity.
I really like this poem,
I love the phrase pyjama-minded, and the way you describe our souls as myopic.
I love the imagery of this - indeed "pyjama-minded" and myopic souls stand out, although I also particularly love:
"winter tumbling through
windows onto rugs,
swallowing our feet"
And the end of course is wonderful. I really love this poem. I took the tone as more of a serene one, and found that it really captured that sense of a winter-blizzard day stuck inside, but maybe extended to a metaphor of being snowed in emotionally/mentally/creatively? At least that's what I got from it. I loved that I could get so much from it. My favourites are poems that have fantastic specific imagery and yet are abstract enough that you can relate on almost any level - and this poem gets all that perfectly. One of my favourites of yours.
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