Tag: jeremiah ray writing poetry

the plum

i have misunderstood

the plum

something so simple

something often overlooked

we feed each other slices

of sweet

ripe fruit

collecting the juice

with our tongues

and sucking out the flavor

from our lips

we taste both the fruit

and each other’s skin

this is our language

words don’t work for us

it feels primal

it feels perfect

this is all we want

sticky fingers and lips

and the pit we leave behind

unseen

you are gone,

time cannot hold on to what it once held.

you’ve seen this before,

somewhere

we were together here,

just like lovers are,

unseen by anyone.

you drift away,

lost in dreams.

gone

but time still brings you back.

lovers remain in time,

in dreams.

memories still kept close.

you and i,

lovers kept in time.

to the heavens

i woke up to blue skies

and noticed how gently everything moved

as the pine trees swayed

out on the horizon.

my tea is black

rich and strong

i try to sip it slowly

the mug is hot

against my lips

i do not remember

if yesterday was the same

or if the day before

was any different

now, i’m not sure

if it even matters

today the sky is blue

tomorrow it might be

dark gray all the way to the horizon

and when the gray

stretches on and on without

any definition

i’ll remind myself it doesn’t matter

and that tomorrow

it might be deep cerulean

endless from the earth

to the heavens

 

a word

When I was a child, I copied
the way you moved
and I would ask,
What should I call you?

I tried to find
a word I hadn’t
learned yet,

a word beyond
what a child could understand.
It was something unfamiliar,

Now, as an adult, I still
find myself asking,
What should I call you?

There are no gestures now.
I don’t understand
That’s what it means to grow older.

This is a shadow,
and this, too,
is part of life.

Do they eat old food?

Is it a chickadee or a nuthatch?
I find myself unsure about this
and so many other things.
The feeder rests
under the overhang.
I hold my breath and stay still as they come,
their delicate beaks
extracting a single seed;
Their thanks seem to glow in the morning air.
I should replace their food.
How old is it?
Do they eat old food?
I feel unsure about this
and so many other things.
If I take down the feeder,
They might think it’s gone and fly away.
It would take 5 minutes
to refill
but to them,
Maybe that pause feels like five hours or even five months to them.
The rain has made them hurry
when they feed.
They swoop in and quickly fly away
as they flash against the gray sky.
I sit quietly, letting my coffee cool as I watch.
These are only brief moments
for me
Yet for a chickadee, it might be a lifetime
Or perhaps a nuthatch
I find myself unsure about this
and so many other things.

the language

I speak a foreign language.

It feels like there are endless syllables and countless vowels,
And I speak it alone.

All I want is to feel good in my body and connect with someone else.

But I feel tangled
in a language that only I seem to understand.

When I speak, it feels heavy in ways I can’t describe.
It brings out meanings I never meant.

I kept my desire for pleasure and true connection to myself,
afraid of how much
my words might weigh on someone.

Then gentle fingers touched my lips and quieted the sounds.

A mouth met mine and took my words away.

Every syllable and vowel slowly faded.

As each sound lingered,
A voice, speaking my language, said,

I hear you.
I know your intentions.
I understand.
Speak without fear.
Speak honestly and

rest here, open and true

free from worry.

my longing for physical pleasure
and the sense of real connection came back.

With the language we both understand,
the language we share together,
We can show each other who we really are.

We will trace letters with our tongues,
and with soft breaths on our necks, we will write our stories.