In so strange beautyberry time
when every hour swung abrupt from grief to glee
and back to grief once more
the sky was bright, the sky turned brutal dark
early evening air was deadly ice
cozy moon shone out round cheeked
The deep December after-midnight air
proved sudden balmy, oddly soft
Embrace and goodnight kiss surprised
so brief! hushed! chaste! yet somehow beautiful
And after early lively talk, wine, song
parting conversation earthbound, drear
dull dangers of dim lights
glum threats of falls and fractured bones
Beneath it all lurked simple truth
something sudden manifest! earlier that same December day
halfhidden on a small shop's tight-packed rack
a dainty kind of garment, never seen before —
magenta purple, velvet, silk
a fragile, most unlikely . . . bra?
bralette, perhaps? bustier? or camisole?
lithe haven, sanctuary — a yielding curvy purple place
to gently hold two breasts
Before . . . before bereavement, deadness, drear grey daily grief
she would have cried out loud
spying such a pretty thing
so oddly there, by merest chance
wild colour! calling out to her so bold
imagining her love's response, his eager eyes, deft hands
upstairs awaiting greenlit, steep steps quick climbed —
Now pointless, all such feelings dead and gone, of course
six long years past . . . she shrugged, sighed, walked away
and yet, in minutes turned right back
snatched up that tiny curve of ruddy furry silk —
she rescued it! or so it almost seemed
judging by her sudden hurried steps,
fast grab of her two hands as she gripped hanger hook
took purpled prize to curtained booth
in cold day air she shivered, stripping off —
in mirror swift discovered, as if meant
strange garment was, indeed, a perfect kissing fit
Impulse purchased — one quick click! and soon, at home
bold bra did further prove its fitness. . .
colour match exact for panties waiting patient there
in dusty, tight-closed drawer . . .
soft lingerie of purple silk and lace
so very long unworn
Love gift, from her long dead love
now sweetly paired with new and different
Yet somehow feeling . . . right, all right
perfected newfound match
Would wear them both together swift —
old and new
beneath her proper simple weekday garb
that very night, she vowed!
when time was right
if time was right
if time were ever to be right
But red light sudden shone
time turned out strange . . .
sweet, then dulled, then savage, angry ill — not right
Not right, the opposite — dark, harsh, full of pain
Can things — can life, perhaps, still come out right?
Wild world with errant velvet bras
so sudden manifest
may shout out no
(may also whisper yes?)
YOU ARE READING
stranger danger?
Poetrythings stay scary-strange, yet there are (strange) moments of beauty too (poetry, 2022)