Thread: Honor

Am I posting too often?

This poem was inspired by a forest fire. I can still remember how the air felt as I drove past the smoldering embers

After the fire there's
a dry breathlessness that
lingers in the air. It
gives the evening a
dull copper look, like
blood beneath fingernails.
There's always some wind
at sunset-
Keep your eye out for that green flash-
but it can't seem to pluck
the stillness that cradles
the night. I take
the will he holds out
for me. "Did you see
the flash?" he asks.
I feel the dry paper between
my fingers and I tell him
no. The breathlessness
seeps in and he sighs
and lays his hand on
his chest. "Someday
you will see it."
I set the paper down
and close the patio
door and turn on
the light before sitting
down on the edge
of his bed.

The policy in place is a maximum of two pieces per person per day per forum. Lotta pers there. This policy ensures that everyone gets their fair share of time in the coveted slots on page one. Any threads in excess are considered flooding and will be removed with the proviso they may be posted again providing the time frame is respected. I've checked and as far as I can tell, you've remained within the parameters, Hinducow. I'll be back to reply when time permits. Hope this helps, love.

Best,
Lisa

Please don't hate me, Hinducow, but I've taken the liberty of adjusting your enjambment, I really like the piece but the flow was distracting from your actual words, at least for me. Your use of fire as a metaphor works so well here. Okay here goes, if you hate it, just ignore me:

After the fire
there's a dry breathlessness
that lingers in the air.
It gives the evening
a dull copper look,
like blood
beneath fingernails. (I love this)

There's always some wind
at sunset -
keep your eye out for that green flash - (here I got confused, the infamous light?)
but it can't seem to pluck
the stillness that cradles
the night.

I take the will
he holds out for me.
"Did you see the flash?" he asks. (he asks is already implied)
I feel the dry paper (love dry here)
between my fingers
and I tell him no.
The breathlessness seeps in
and he sighs (perhaps as in lieu of and here to avoid repetition)
and lays his hand
on his chest.
"Someday, you will see it."

I set the paper down
and close the patio door (again double and, perhaps then instead here?)
and turn on the light
before sitting down
on the edge
of his bed.

These are just my humble suggestions, hon. I love my individual interpretation of this piece, it's grabbed hold of me good, if I'm off base, please don't tell me, I want to hold onto this one if it's okay with you. Well done, love.

Best,
Lisa