EACH OTHERS OPPOSITE
It’s December. And through my glass
door I see a rare foxglove
bloom. In erratic times,
pink tubular bells dance
in the shadow of death,
the last fallen leaves.
Trees, naked, stretch long
Kali arms, hands into a dull sky,
live a surrendered life.
In the grey, between
dawn and dusk, I watch nature,
how she nurtures her family.
You are everywhere, a stranger
in my house, we are silent,
each other’s ghost opposites.
It is snowing and three robins,
centre near the garden
table share one feeder,
without conflict, I call it Jerusalem.
Inside, the heat turned up, a wasp
moves from under the radiator,
attempts to crawl a slow measured
expiration across the wall. I want
to help, know, it’s not the time, life
finds its way. Outside, cold turns
ice, a distant bird soars into the harsh
north sun, too high, disappears.
I gaze at the mirror, holder of shadow,
many faces. We dreamed ourselves
into these images, the oppositeness of being.
I am ready again for the world,
as I think of the surly waiter who smiled,
full with contraries.
By Attracta Fahy.