Autumn is a time of great change, and for me, i remember Autumn in particular as a time of flux, change, and a passage, hence the image. We pass through so many passages in life, paths and routes that lead to different routes and byways - maybe we take the long-way or the byway or the detour. I always take the longway, never bothered by the detour. Maybe you too... But i always try to get where i am going, and so far, I arrive, for the most part, intact, even if, at times, my heart, yes, a little broken... but this too, in time, repairs. Or perhaps we leave it in pieces in the ground and just look at the shattered pieces as Dickenson, i believe said, for a broken heart can never truly be repaired. Maybe we have more than one heart then. More than one chance at love in life, more than one road to travel. This is my experience...There is never just one way to get from Here to There. Sometimes, the best way is the least obvious and is not even marked on the map.
sadi ranson-polizzotti, autumn, 2006
I keep thinking i will see you. See your form as it lifts ghostly from the fog, some apparition you rise lightr and all american smiles and come to me as if in a dream because i have what you want....
sadi ranson-polizzotti, autumn's end, poem -- november, france -- Love, the afternoon comes fast. I cannot Face it. The fading light too Quick, my hands stick the paper blank, no words spill from my pen. It is gummed up with sorrow, stuck
All that bitter winter she was my jailer. No more than an asiatic poppy, lethal with her opium. she ran me ragged until I could run no more as if all will had left and I gave up. For months I had refused to leave
For days, i have been traveling fast circles. First, without you, the big debate Of wist and want, of right and not. We've been doing this for months And summer is on -- full hot; so much So that it's almost fall but not quite. I walk
See she whose head spits spark and fire.
Behind her iris, blue bolts of lightning – a thousand volts of recognition.
See her seize, such fits!
Hands reaching; they touch nothing.
A girl wired to an E.E.G. machine;
On the page I am brave in this way.
The pen, the paper, easier then… we stand, united, indivisible.
Except of course… you… and you know it.
You then are different. You hide. You seek.
I am raw lipped and softened. A magic trick: you take me to your pocket. I am lily- white and purified. Past sins absolved. The old again now new, such surprise, it is you! You come tender,
God, that is what i want to say; just God...
Because from the depths of my disbelief i believe
and yet here i am alone, standing only barely without you,
having so carefully dug your grave, i wrapped you in
my favorite and your pink pashmina, the one you covered
with your calico-tortoise fur, the one you took to as a child
takes to a blanket - suckled, nibbled, so loved.
I try to tell you that this too will pass, realizing how trite I sound.
I have been to this place where you are– have passed through –
a ghost, i stepped in thre quagmire, the mud-thick vapor,
hard to shrug off the shroud of sorrow and regret.
Are you really Proud to be?
or is it just me who sees that you have nothing that you want to offer –
not that you’d give me anyway.
but hey, ain’t this how we play?
Bring the spotlight back to me.
Take away that bright light; the spotlight off of you.
I’m tired of efforts to sort you out.
Impossible anyway – waste of the day.