Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Poetry Train #13: Walking

When my husband
gets home
from his logging job
he blabs and blabs
on and on
about the big pine trees
and the deer he sees

and when I’m full
to the top
of my head
with his sentences
I get dressed
and head outside
for a walk.

As I go up Hinchey Street
those words
begin to unlock
and slide down
through my body
and I leave them
in my footprints.

By the time
I get to the top
of Sixth Avenue
the fresh air
has room
to spread out
in my mind.

I notice the stars
like chalk
on the blackboard
of the sky.

I see the lights
of Berlin
laid out on black
velvet.

I breathe…
I breathe…

My thoughts
lay back
and relax
in the hammock
of my brain
and the moon
throws
a soft white afghan
over them.

9 comments:

Tumblewords: said...

love the hammock of my mind and the blackboard of the sky
A lovely poem! Interesting topic...

anthonynorth said...

You describe a welcome psychological process amazingly there.
Almost meditative.

Pretty Me!! said...

:)

utopianfragments said...

always good to go out into the fresh air, walking or doing anything lets heavyness disolve naturely .... rather then by force.
i enjoyed much this city walk with you.

paisley said...

that was so soothing.. like a breath of fresh air....

gautami tripathy said...

What do I say? Very cool and soothing...

dancing verses

Noah the Great said...

Walking is always the rest. I'm too lazy to do it often, plus there's really nothing where I live compared to in Puerto rico.

Julia Smith said...

Ooo, I love it. The rambling talk of the returned husband, having to get away to process it all and then - the processing completed - drips through the narrator's footsteps. What great imagery.

Sweet Talking Guy.. said...

Beautiful words! This IS a breath of fresh air! There's great comfort portrayed here!!!

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