Leaves falling now brought to mind this old poem:
GIFT FROM A GLASS GRAVE
I carry
Your book
From the library shelf
Anne Sexton
And walk down the aisle
Gripped by your line-drawn eyes
Staring
Through cellophane covering
Your Awful Rowing Towards God.
A shudder folds up my belly,
Gooseflesh dances my boundaries.
I am about to receive
Your presence—
These paper leaves
Ironed and inked,
Transformed from those we raked
Into outlined houses
Over the dead grass
Of childhood’s fall.
1983
June Eleanor Skalisky Kimmel Comarsh (Gillam)
This is so elegant and clear: like the glass metaphor-. So moving June! I still recall you telling your class about the raking of leaves into the shapes of houses when you were a child.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful imagery! Love "gooseflesh dances my boundaries." & "staring through cellophane" -- I could almost feel the book in my hands!!
ReplyDelete