no-name time of day
by Kitty Boots
that time of day
when there's a gauzy blanket thrown over
the thin span of time between dusk and dark
when there's a gauzy blanket thrown over
the thin span of time between dusk and dark
when shadows steal from the sun
lightning bugs
honeysuckle strangles the senses, air so close
birds sing as if in mourning
covered in a sheen of sweat, flowers of salt bloom on my T-shirt
as I dry out under the fan
hear thunder in the distance, feel static in the air
tiny leopard frogs
anticipating rain
they'd look so perfect as a necklace or a bracelet
I cannot replicate their beauty, or explain my attraction to them
and then
filaments of rain, straight, opalescent
not hard enough to make the mop-head hydrangeas lose their dignity
or sprawl, mud-spattered, defeated
no lullaby on the metal roof
I wash the dinner dishes, look out the window
trash panda is patting for fallen mulberries by the well cover
I tap on the glass and she looks at me
lightning bugs
honeysuckle strangles the senses, air so close
birds sing as if in mourning
covered in a sheen of sweat, flowers of salt bloom on my T-shirt
as I dry out under the fan
hear thunder in the distance, feel static in the air
tiny leopard frogs
anticipating rain
they'd look so perfect as a necklace or a bracelet
I cannot replicate their beauty, or explain my attraction to them
and then
filaments of rain, straight, opalescent
not hard enough to make the mop-head hydrangeas lose their dignity
or sprawl, mud-spattered, defeated
no lullaby on the metal roof
I wash the dinner dishes, look out the window
trash panda is patting for fallen mulberries by the well cover
I tap on the glass and she looks at me
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Author's Note
the end of a day
Other stories by Kitty Boots
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This seemingly nonchalant opening, as if a casual remark over a neighborhood fence or from the next bar stool, not quite conceals a peculiar inflection allowing an intimation of something pregnant dead ahead, an implicit promise of quicksilver, that what you are reading is about to set your imagination afire. Knowing who wrote it, of course, you know it will.
And it does! It's just drop-dead gorgeous.
Beautiful opening stanza. And this:
"honeysuckle strangles the senses"
I love that time of day and you describe it sweetly. *
Thank you, Matt and Erika.
Thanks, Charlotte. It is, indeed, the sweetest time of day!
Entirely lovely, Kitty. Full of finely wrought images; absolutely impossible to pick a favorite, but would love to have written myself the leopard frogs stanza (ok, any of the stanzas!). Love, too, the idle-to-lush voice/tone of the poem's I-narrator.
Vivid.
"tiny leopard frogs
anticipating rain"
Great!
typo: lightning
"trash panda"
cf. Lowell's "Skunk Hour"
*, Kitty. Yet more of your fine work. I like this one a lot.
Thank you, Ed, Gary, Bill and David. I appreciate your gentle attention to my typos!
:)
"when shadows steal from the sun"
***, So many lovely lines in here.
The whole thing washes perfectly the no-name time of day.
And doing the dishes has always been a kind of therapy for me.*
Thank you, Rachna and Tim.