Patterns

There is a difference now.

Night used to be when cold sheets became

warm and 'La petite mort,' was writ large

in both heart and mind, when the illusion
of love became a transient reality.

Night used to be shy smiles, Followed
by whispers in the dark, an entwining
of limbs; perfectly timed quicksteps
and tangos, thirsts quenched.

Now there is only the occasional,
Tarantella, a hurried joining,
as subservience suborns
to anticipated independence.

"I still love you of course," she said,
"It, it's just..." tailing off as moonlight
shadows cast. "I can no longer be your
Nora, a doll without consequence."

"Morning will bring light," he said.
"An understanding of consequence.
I'll call the office, let them know I'll be late."

But they were only words; this she knew.
just as she knew there was no alternative ending.

Reviews

[h d e rushin]

78 percent of all American black women will never know marriage. I asked a group of friends how that made them feel. You know Beccy, with feeling comes this obligation, this periosteum that connects the tissues
of both your reasoning's and your denials. "You just can't give up trying" was the resounding chorus. Sadly most have reconciled their "Nora" with their needs. They were angry at me for bringing it up at all. Yet, knowing there is no alternative whether your a beauty queen, hold a PHD in Math, is a noted journalist or poet, have a lot of money or just some girl who wanders the neighborhood stores to buy loose cigarettes, that 78% is still locked in space, like an asteroid that just wont crash to earth.....but I digress.

Your huge here. Your first stanza means that "you can get so use to someone that whatever discord arises, whatever was mutual intolerance, was that condition of "taking your lover for granted". When I was little I never heard my mom and dad making love in the other room. But since my youngest sister was born, i'm sure it had to happen.....See what I mean? love dana

[Lorry]

No one told me growing up that I would become a humbug suckin', TCP scented, grey haired and hunched over crumbly (One at a time, please ladies)
Time, career, family all make the time blur into what sometimes feels like a race, until you realise things just slid out of grasp andthe hand of comfort is no longer as close as we once thought.
Those crisp sheets now taking on a colder echo of what once was.
I think most can find something that resonates loudly within, some of us more than once 😊

[Beccy]

I can cope with grey haired, hunched over and crumbly, but TCP, Yuk! :))

[Lorry]

I gargle with it, and have absolutely no idea why women keep running away from me, although it might be the humbugs, they're not to everyone's taste 😆

[jacob erin-cilberto]

as it happens, love's passion can't hold up over the years...and then we are excuses...Yes, I love you, but.
I like his formality of saying "I'll call the office" when they both know he won't.
I also like your reference to "A Doll House"---
I was so glad when she left Torvald to find her own way, and get to grow up.
He was easy to dislike.
But your poem really shows what happens in reality, not just a play....
the passion wanes...so hopefully we still have comfort and the aspect of being each other's best friend.
j.

[Beccy]

thank you as ever jacob for your insightful words.

Indeed, life is not just a play.

[emmajoy]

Need read again, pause more, close eyes, gaze between the lines. Slowly done.

'.. when the illusion of love became a transient reality. ' Strange how moments and moods are held.. haltered.. examined in different ways. The fact, the feeling, the features and flaws of another person's presence and emotions; own observation, coo; analysis where once was passion. Your lines lessen, as time ticks on.. then near dive into those three final words. I find that remarkably frank BUT.. oh so painful, Beccy.

Seems you always hold the words, deep down, hidden..

[roarke]

hm, para division didn't change my impression of this write. As before, the first half, a sublime encapsulation, the second half the jolt of reality. Such is the juxtaposition of this scenario. Good stuff B.