Unreliable Narrations

Unreliable Narrations

There is only the moment and then
     on a slope of yellowed grass
     the bearded elders sit on blankets
     offering nuts and apples.
     One places a special peach,
     carefully, into your open hand.

Happenings fall lopsided into day or night.

That moment
    when you trip over light
   and the wind pulls you
   through into the flower, its
   shining nectar and seed
   is prismatic, and sky suddenly bends.

A moment when you find yourself
    amongst churns
   the smell of milk, apples,
   an old horse standing patient,
   your white dress
   filmy in sun-slant.

Waking to blinds, pale edged,
we cannot tell day from night.
Waking from a dream of apples
and the snapshot of a child, filmy in white,
we cannot tell the truth of it.

The painting of the girls with
red lips and Chinese lanterns,
light pouring through lilies, white dresses,
remembered as how we stood in an orchard
in that early light.

This morning the orchard stoops under mist.
What rustles amongst the fallen leaves
is a multitude of wasp and ant. Transparent
fruits lie, hollowed out, only wan shapes,
of yesterday’s apples and pears.

Listening to the stories that we tell ourselves,
the stopping places on the way to here,
we cannot figure, quite, the truth of it,
the border leaking between day and night.

Who took the snapshot of the child in white?

Brigid Smith: October 2011

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5 Comments

Filed under Recent poems

5 responses to “Unreliable Narrations

  1. Gorgeous. I wish I’d written it!

  2. beautiful evocation of autumn, time passing, the mystery of images …

  3. Those are lovely verses. They seem to be lit from the interior by soft light. Reading them I felt as though I was taken into a meditation.

    • Hi Harry – thanks for your comments I am glad that you liked the poem. I only just worked out how to reply – hope tha this reaches you and you enjoy the later posts too. More poems in the pipeline, in the middle of trying to decide what to revise, what to send out etc. Interesting that you met Maitreyabandhu – I think I would like to talk to him – we don’t get to be much in the poetry milieu here in rural Normandy so good that I have Viv and another poet friends nearby who also runs occasional courses and workshops. Poetry Retreat next week which I hope to be part of. Good to communicate with you. Brigid

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