Twilight

there in the last glimmer

I see a girl run barefoot across the field

I see an old woman, hunched and bent, look up

and briefly, as the smile crosses her face

resemble that girl again

I see the cruelty of passing cars who

do not slow to permit the old woman crossing

their fierce lipped drivers dripping with venom

at the vulnerability of the ancient

I see the disinterest of those behind closed doors

watching their Twitter feeds like stock markets

of gossip and futility, forgetful of

the song bird who used to sing outside

and now does not

the sky has broken open like an orange feast

light pours out into darkness and indigo colored

clouds hasten to rush against the backdrop like

tired dancers exiting stage right

far away a man chops wood for his first fire of the season

a woman might be giving birth in a nearby hospital

couples squabble and make up, over dinner

the TV is muted, the street is awash with festive tinsel

and the occasional inflatable polar bear

one day we will be that girl rushing to gather her urge

against tall grass

we will also be that old woman, returning home

to an empty house with tall staircase

when they pass, we keep them alive through our memories

the old and the new

shining like new stars in a Winters sky

I see my grandmother’s there now

I remember their voices, mindfully reminding me

be kind

be kind

be kind

0 Replies to “December 2020”

  1. Gorgeous piece Candice! I loved the Twitter like stock market line… that’s so very clever (and true). You’ve perfectly created the scene in my mind, as always: perfection.

  2. Is the girl that was
    Living still in the old woman
    And the old woman to be
    Hidden in the girl?
    The Sphinx poses her riddle
    That we be mindful
    We are all each of those stages
    All at once
    A hologram of
    All the ages
    All the strengths
    All the infirmities
    Between the mortal
    Alpha and Omega
    And kindness
    Our most becoming garment

  3. Lovely piece of writing. I can picture most of it. I used to take the train to work, about a 20-minute journey in the Hutt Valley near Wellington, NZ. The trip had some lovely scenery but most people never looked up from their phones or books to notice it.
    Have a lovely Christmas

  4. This is why I love when you’re writing and if not writing, sharing your work . . .

    “forgetful of

    the song bird who used to sing outside

    and now does not

    the sky has broken open like an orange feast

    light pours out into darkness and indigo colored

    clouds hasten to rush against the backdrop like

    tired dancers exiting stage right”

    Your voice is such a strong one, Candice.

    1. Thank you so much. You know I struggle with thinking I should write. I read so many talented writers every single day (and some bad ones) and I talk myself out of thinking I have a place in this ‘writing world’ and instead focus on helping others publish etc, but you are right, I began as a writer, and when I write I do find something there. I just wish I had the faith in my work others have in theirs. thank you for encouraging me and supporting me. It means — everything.

    2. We were working on one of the new anthologies. I am reading for one, and we took on this new editor, for that project, who is about parallel to me in experience/age etc. I don’t know her. I wrote an introduction to her and wrote her on FB but she did not write back, fair enough. Then we were ‘grading’ the submissions and she wrote ‘needs some editing’ on one of my pieces (but not on most of everyone else’s). She might not have been wrong, the subject is/was hard for me to write on and it was less poem than prosetry or even prose really. But it really hurt me because I felt, wow here is someone who doesn’t know me and they really don’t think i’m a very good writer and the only reason the others say ‘yes’ is they know me, but if they did not know me, they would not choose my work … blah blah. That was my train of thought. I did not begrudge her her truth, I begrudged myself the lack of ‘seller talent’ that would cause her to say wow this is great and not flag my work ‘needs edits’ – anyway in a way – unfriendly as she is – she helped me but also it inhibited me and that’s the problem as much as logically I can appreciate truth, criticism, my emotional side curls up and dies. So getting faith in my writing is a up hill battle I am not born with it, it does not self generate. If being truthful I say I am crap at everything aside helping others. So that’s the rub.

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