In the End

by Danielle Fletcher.

So, I'd usually be kind of embarrassed to post poetry on here, but since this one is just a mimicry of Duncan McNaughton's poem, I don't feel too attached to it.

Here goes:

Moving here to there, warm
summers linger only in my bones. Wind
prunes lulling dreams, leaving half-
awake apprehensions: it’s true you can fight
the sleep but not the dreams.

You can’t help imagining, yearning,
agitated shadow seeing appeals for
help – flightless bird’s plea, flying bird’s
prowess: the same helplessness
in everyone living.

Autumn’s here, my love is lost,
it’s easy to allow silence become painful,
alone, weakness, unbearable. Pain,
to ever love again would be to cut open a
scar. Every love the same ache.

All that’s been preached at me, I’ve learned
to shut out. There are no two worlds, no three.
There is only the one and the myriad of
tiny, insignificant worlds created by ourselves and
our lovers. I know myself immediately. To
exist in another’s world: thoughts, daydreams,
philosophy, momentary, secrets, fantasies, failures,
to know.

Why bother wondering whether
he’s gone so long as you and I can
comfort with friendship the torment
left by a bird flown?
How to recover? I’ve been told: Remember
the warmth of spring, feel it. And keep it. Now
tuck it away. Then, without losing oneself, move on.
On towards the love waiting for you to live.

_______________________
to Alice Notley