Creation of Space

The green and white shell is just big enough
I can curl my pinkie finger part way
inside, where it is smooth, slippery, clean
and dry as it never was when alive.

There are many kinds of spaces like this,
lovely but slightly odd with absences
of some past or future that will/was/won’t
fill the gap hollowed with infinite care.

There are other types of spaces, you know,
in which some enormous pressure is gone
or at a great distance. I dream of life
somewhere with a few folk and many pines.

For others it is the space in the day
after the kids sleep or before they wake;
the high emptiness of the clouds over
great waters; streetlamps after the bars close;

sunlight through lace streaking faint trails of dust
over wooden floors freshly swept, while flutes
and guitars quietly sift through the air;
the loud crowds in which there is no known face.

These are all intimate spaces, defined
by presence. For good or ill, we know what
is lacking, what is missed, unlike the first
space before any others, when nothing

was nothing; nothing was needed or lost,
nothing was missing, and everything was.

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13 responses to “Creation of Space

  1. This hit home with me. Have been thinking a lot about my mother (who died 12 years ago). My son’s pending wedding. My daughter finishing college. Friends I no longer see and changes that have occurred. But like your spaces, these spaces do not generate sad feelings because what is left behind are beautiful memories.

  2. I really like the images this evokes! Really lovely!

  3. I did not mean to imply there was no sense of loss.
    To me these are are people and relationships I just cannot believe are gone from my life.
    Like the amputee feeling the pain in a missing limb.

  4. A space unfilled lies deep inside

    still

    No ripples on the pond
    The mud at the bank was cold between my toes

    Humid undergrowth between the paths
    cocoon the embers of a day’s turmoil

    sometimes

    Snow in deep night

    whisps against the panes,
    breathing quietly;

    crunches hollow,
    echoes my footfall
    disturbing the sanctuary as I struggle uphill.

    Sadness
    Loneliness
    are welcome friends in these places
    sought after
    cherished
    held tight
    like gripping an icicle

    • Tom, how lovely – but – why not put this on your own blog, and then comment, ping back, or link here? I much appreciate your sharing this. 🙂

      • Your poem got me thinking and so responded in poetic form. Feel free to let it wash away. I prefer to write in the sand anyway 🙂

      • I think that has to be one of the most flattering things anyone has said to me on this blog. A poem that inspires others to think, write and create is … is … being heard, really really heard. Thank you. 🙂 A pleasure to meet you, btw.

  5. I suspect like all art there are at least three viewpoints (the author’s, the reader’s, and the poem’s)

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