{"id":2286,"date":"2014-10-26T11:30:16","date_gmt":"2014-10-26T16:30:16","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.celticharper.com\/blog\/?p=2286"},"modified":"2014-10-26T11:50:47","modified_gmt":"2014-10-26T16:50:47","slug":"i-wish-someone-had-told-me","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.celticharper.com\/blog\/?p=2286","title":{"rendered":"I Wish Someone Had Told Me"},"content":{"rendered":"

Following the prompt for this week’s reading night.<\/em><\/p>\n

I wish someone had told me<\/strong>
\nthat it would burn this brightly
\nthat the shadows of the dead
\nwould cling to my heels
\nno matter how far I travelled.
\nWherever I settle,
\nthey settle in too
\nhang their shrouds
\nby the smouldering hearth
\nset their shoes in pairs
\nby the doorway
\ngaze out through my eyes
\nflinging blithe commentary
\ntheir sage sad opinions
\nlike seed for the birds
\ntheir half remembered songs
\nwoven through the bars
\nof my rib cage, etched
\ninto the wax record grooves.<\/p>\n

If anyone were to find me,
\nlater, when all has been
\nlost, or given away,
\nI wonder if they could
\nplay these tunes
\nWhat kind of needle
\nwould they need?
\nwhat switches and buttons,
\nwhat molecular magic
\nto make those notes
\nsing true again?<\/p>\n

The ballads of the dead
\nare not, as commonly claimed,
\nthe harsh whispered sighs
\nof sand crossing stone
\nnor the mournful howls
\nof cold winds harrowing
\nthe gorse bristled,
\nheather softened moors
\nunder the shipwrecked moon.
\nNot for me, the cold laughter
\nof half-frozen streams;
\nFor me, there are only
\nmemories of sweetness
\nmoments of agonizing tenderness
\nmade all the more terrible
\nfor their absence on waking.<\/p>\n

If you place a dark
\nstone on the snow,
\nthe snow will melt around it
\nif left in the indifferent
\nembrace of the sun;
\nThe hole that’s left
\nwhen the stone is plucked free
\nragged yet soft,
\nedges crumbling at first touch
\nmay resemble footprints
\nwhen exaggerated by wind
\nbut to those who know how to look
\nthey see only where the stone
\nshould be, but isn’t.<\/p>\n

These are the things
\nthat propel me into the light
\ninto the blazing heat
\nthat pulls sweat from skin
\ndrenches the thin shirt
\nstretched over a too-thin frame;
\nIn those moments of casual distress,
\nof calculated carelessness,
\nit is what keeps me moving
\nfast as my lungs will carry me
\nonto the next beckoning path
\nno matter how dark
\n(the shadows are always darker,
\nin any event, one of their
\nmore charming characteristics)<\/p>\n

And yet, one finite breath
\ncan only last so long
\nand the graces of Serendipity
\nare not always as generous
\nas they once were; and so
\nthere must be moments like this,
\na pause to reconnect
\noxygen to the brain,
\ncalories to the bloodstream,
\nthe heat enveloping me
\nin a deadly game of wills:<\/p>\n

Who will capitulate first?
\nWill I wait until my eyes
\nare blinded by sweat,
\nhead ringing dizzy,
\nthroat salt croaking dry?<\/p>\n

Or will the sun at last surrender
\nto a wandering cloud,
\nand break the spell?<\/p>\n

What will run first?
\nThe ink, shedding long
\nblack tears across the bleached
\nhot-to-the-touch paper?
\nOr the melting snow,
\nover the toes
\nof my vagabond boots?
\nOr the light itself,
\nfleeing the oncoming night?<\/p>\n

I wish someone had told me
\nhow it would feel
\nas the rushing murmuration
\nof a thousand thousand starlings
\nfills the sky in a controlled
\nchaos of tornado sound
\nthe vast stippled black cloud
\nflowing over and through me
\nas I run headlong through the field,
\narms outstretched,
\nleaving jagged threads
\nand rags of shadow
\ncaught hanging
\non the autumn dry rustle
\nof pale dead stems,
\none final ecstasy of flight
\ninto the burning sky’s embrace.<\/p>\n

– T.H.
\n(written at Dreams of Beans, 10.24.14, in a sunny window)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Following the prompt for this week’s reading night. I wish someone had told me that it would burn this brightly that the shadows of the dead would cling to my heels no matter how far I travelled. Wherever I settle, … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[6],"tags":[941,764,942],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.celticharper.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2286"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.celticharper.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.celticharper.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.celticharper.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.celticharper.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=2286"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"http:\/\/www.celticharper.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2286\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2292,"href":"http:\/\/www.celticharper.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2286\/revisions\/2292"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.celticharper.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=2286"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.celticharper.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=2286"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.celticharper.com\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=2286"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}