ManicDDaily

Evening

I walk out into air
too soft for fall.
It catches the hillside
in its net; I think of the filmy scarfs
old ladies wore when I was small
to shield their permanents.

It catches me too,
as if I were a tendril that might stray
from some cosmic ‘do
if given half the chance.

And I would.
The insides of my days,
so clockworked, cog-clogged–permanently, so it seems–
that even the caress of this weather is at first a heaviness
to be slogged through.

The ladies hurtled in their scarves
from door to door, car to church, store to kitchen, knots tied
beneath chins, whirls of tease and tame
perseveringly preserved–

How much I owe them, I tell myself, grass pressed damp
against my shins, then wonder what
exactly–this tangled mop, these clumsy boots, the insistence
that I should at least feel
worthy of love.

In the veiled reds,
greyed golds, so much leave-
taking–at the end, the scarf was worn simply
against cold, white strands loose
on pillow–the air too soft
for fall–I walk out in it.

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This is very much of a draft poem for Kerry O’Connor’s terrific prompt on Real Toads to try to write something influenced by Denise Levertov. I had read very little Levertov before the prompt, and I cannot say how this is influenced by her work, only that I read several poems and then came up with this. I really don’t think it’s “there” yet, but there it is. I am also linking to the open link nights of  With Real Toads and dVerse Poets Pub.