I gather glints and sparkles from the crests of waves.
Dark waters roil beneath.
I photograph trees tall in a forest;
The rough bark that scratches my fingers can never be felt.
Fish, sparkles, sequins lie splayed across pages
Where they dry in the sun.
Below, life.
***
Since this poem mystified my mom, and since many people prefer not to be mystified, I will just say that sometimes I feel blogging is a lie, or at least a very dumbed-down version of the truth. This poem is a tribute to all the pieces of life I cannot write.
Beautiful. Does not need translation.
So true. Thank you for the poem and the honesty. There’s no way to capture it all, and there’s such a thing as too much information, too. Thank you for not doing that either. :)
It’s beautiful!
I love it and agree with the translation.
I totally get it – maybe because I’m living it. I’m struggling this summer worse than ever on whether to dip into the dark water or just describe the sequins. Sometimes it is easiest to not blog at all.
But I hope you keep sharing your words.
Gina
Thank you, Gina. I understand why you understand. And I think that whatever you want to blog, the dark water or the sequins, is exactly right. We all know that everything can’t be written, but I am blessed by what you do share. Much love to you.
It is a lovely poem. And I am comforted. Thanks.
Beautiful poem! I feel that tension, too. I think my writing gets dark and depressing at times, but I believe God can still bless our fumbling attempts to honor Him. Write what you can, and trust Him with the rest!
Thank you, Rosina!