Stockings

There's a run in my stockings-

My tea is cold in my memory 

of when that thread was in its place.

A mockingbird on the willow tree

and robins in the westward sun.

"The tea has gone cold," I say;

wishing for the stars to heat it up.

A lonely bit of driftwood bumps the pier-

"where are you from," I ask it.

I know it cannot reply but 

I stare waiting for some silent answer.

A periodic tide rolls into my heart-

all of time releases its weary grasp

and I'm standing at a shipyard-

There's a run in my stockings.

Reviews

[Danny Russell]

As usual, Anna, your poetry defies your age. You write as if you were a gifted, much older individual. Poetry must be read on so many levels. Your artful maturity demands a second and third look. I love your complex/simplicity. Oxymoron right? Your feelings are simple but complex. You choose just the right words to express something most beautiful, your mature, youthful observations as you stand on the threshold of life. Are you the lonely bit of driftwood? Maybe a combination of driftwood and songbird. I love you.

[Diane]

Wow! I really liked this!

[Coyote Poetry]

Very nice use of words. I did like this poem. The poem made me smile. Thank you for sharing the amazing poetry. I enjoyed the poem.

Coyote

[The Twin Arenas]

Beautiful. It's been amazing to see you develop as a writer.

[Gheeneil]

This spoke of death but it didn't necessarily mean physical death. Perhaps, she was like trudging off the beaten track and she couldn't find a way back. There was longing because people almost always had strong attachment to home. Mockingbird and robins worked well together in this piece. Anything that suggests change will always involve some sort of "sharpening."

Such a profound piece of writing!

[Madeira]

A beautiful poem that spoke to me of a deep yearning for the past, loved it

[Ghost]

A well dressed lady waiting at the pier for someone to return and she may only be thinking of the return only to be standing there for no one to return... Either way she is worried about a run in her stocking, and how the tea she had or thought she had was cold... A lonely feeling of waiting for a return when none will come... Thanks for sharing