Ritual of Departure
I walk this dying year slowly down to the edge. You laugh, tell
me I am holding his shrivelled arm too tight, he totters now, his
voice feeble, not that he has anything left to say. I wait for him
to crumble to ashes so I can hand him back to ocean that birthed
him, how many times have we done this here, how many times
have we stood at this door, me empty-hearted, this silent Bay
of Bengal, waiting in seeming nonchalance, wave after wave,
counting down the seconds. Remember the time he was broken
before the winter solstice, I brought him in pieces, in black plastic
bags, parts missing, and once, long ago, when I did not want to
let him go- all that crusted angst has turned blue wine to salt, yet
this sea burns the fire of a new day in her belly, our ancient ritual
of departure coloured with the blood of arrival. I turn back,
cleansed, eviscerated, clutching the arm of the wind, already
filling with fragments of sunshine and sand. You laugh, tell me
I am holding on too tight, even hollowness has to let go, to fly.
Editor’s Note: The surreality in this poem heightens the emotional resonance of the lines.
Rajani’s poetry always inspires me with its play of real and surreal. Her imagery has an unhurried opulence that I admire. Thanks Christine and Rajani.
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Hey there, Christine, A friend saw my “Winter Without . . .” poem and wondered why I had changed my last name to “Georgia”!! I wonder why I did, too! Take a look at the listing and you’ll see!!
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Oh dear! Bruce, please accept my most abject apologies! I am so very sorry. I have no idea where my brain went, but I believe I’ve corralled that recalcitrant sucker and put it back to work.
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A gorgeous and heartbreaking poem.
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Love this poem. It is hauntingly lyrical and stays with me after I read it.
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