A Poem: An Imperfect Poem

A Poem By Sarah Bethany // 12/21/2010

Orange six a.m.
against which the black
outline of a townhouse
is slatted
and branches like an upright willow broom
are sweeping into the bloom of blue
and the yellow window of a second-story room
tells me someone else is awake and is
so friendly
that I must turn away
back into my dark little studio
and pretend I am not touched.

Because I was too lazy to paint
this early winter morning
and had no mechanical camera -
because I could not keep beauty perfectly -
I felt compelled to forget the image
in my head
and go back to my muggy coffee.

But the soul in me resisted
so I am writing this to remember
that the most beautiful thing was
the purple smoke dancing like a slow Arabian
across the horizon's glow.

And now there is a half-past raspberry line
so fiercely slashed behind the trees and -
the magic is gone and the sky is normal-pink
and I can see the neighbor's red door in the dull light

But I have the elusive moment
because I gazed with the half-reverence
of a wiseman.


Yes, yes, yes.

I get this one, I really get it. The few days I have managed to wake up at six...

Anna | Tue, 12/21/2010

I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right. --The Book Thief

I'm so glad you got it!

It always makes me happy to make that reader-writer connection! Thanks, Anna!

Sarah Bethany | Thu, 12/23/2010

You write awesome poetry Sarah!

I love this poem! Very descriptive! I actually felt like I was there!

Alexandra | Sun, 01/02/2011


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