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The taste of summer wine The taste of summer wine
by Abigail George
2018-08-12 08:33:40
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The taste of summer wine
(for the Dutch poet Joop Bersee)

Human frailties become sharper, at the

    suumm01_400feet of heaven. Its blue lens is more
    remarkable in deep confidence. I’ve
    worked this out in my head and heart.
    I don’t believe in hours anymore.
    Silence. The futility found in life. I’m
blissfully unaware of weariness, more
    forgiving. There are names that I don’t
    remember, but I will always remember
    this. That my brother went for a haircut
    before my uncle’s funeral, but there was a
line ahead of him. I have a long memory
    when it comes to painful things. I
    remember every hurt. Every injustice.
    Every wound. Every cut. It’s a cold winter
    that flashes falls across my neck, my
    shoulder blades, and in my heart all
    that I can hear is doom, doom, doom.
    It was as if I saw my own life flashing
    in front of my eyes. In an instant I was
    flesh against bone, infirm and weak.
    Hardly able to walk, hear, speak, and yet
    my speech was still golden but all I had
    was spirit. Joy comes in the morning.
    In my dreams I want woman. I want to
    fall in all her soft places. It’s only in my
    dreams that I give into the world. Once,
    I saw the love of my life and he was good
and kind and beautiful. I think of the wings
    of the morning drinking rooibos tea.
    Flesh onto bone melting into the thin air.
    Lover, you’re like dry grass to me now.
    Having a woman as lover comes easier
    to me. She was kinder when she needed
    to be, or a dominant force when she wanted
    to be. She let me come and go as I pleased.
    I gave and she gave. Love was a lonely
    and romantic game. She understood my
    loneliness and my silence. The love I had
    for her when I was high or low. I’m just
    thinking to myself now how family didn’t
    offer to help when my brother went to
    rehab. How they didn’t call, avoided us all
    like it was an illness, sickness or some
    kind of disease like leprosy, but I remember
    that no river is ever to wide to cross. In
the end we triumph when we believe in hope.

***********************************************************************
Abigail George has two books in the Ovi Bookshelves,
"All about my mother" & "Brother Wolf and Sister Wren"
Download them, NOW for FREE HERE!

 life_06_400

 


    
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