Monday, April 11, 2011

Of Miracles

Commuting cars along 13 Mile Road
sound like the rush of the ocean waves,
tumbling at low tide, and I am taken
to the seashore where you combed
for shelled treasures and washed them
in wet salt. Your bare feet awash
in the surf, you bowed your head
to the sun.

Time never curls back, and I will never
again stand on the edge of the world
between earth and ocean nor burn
beneath your radiance, your smile,
curving and lifted when you look at me.

I am land-locked now, living in a crummy
basement, bereft of sun and sky and you,
wrapping daylight around my dank nights.

My grief wanders there into early morning,
stands in the middle of the road and looks up
towards blackness.

I do not believe in miracles or accidents,*
only the star, perhaps a planet, peeking
through a sudden parting of clouds

and the swerving car, horn sounding long,
wheels braking hard, but too hurried to stop.
I watch the tail lights fade into the distance,
return to my basement where I sleep hard
and do not dream of seashores.

Ami Mattison

* Excerpt by Sylvia Plath


  1. The streak of that car like that of shooting star. . . like love, and the loss that leaves you feeling "land-locked", immovable, in darkness. Nicely sustained feeling.

    I like how you worked in the Plath line.

  2. Funny places, our dreams - so very unlike where we dwell in the waking hours. Not always better, but always different.

    (Could be worse - could be 12 Mile! LOL!)

  3. I love the way the title plays into the poem with the honking car waking the speaker from the ocean dream. "Time never curls back" is a great line. This poem leaves me very blue.

  4. Wow, 13 Mile Rd. as muse! Well, any road with a Wylie Groves High School on it has to be a little different, right?

    The basement seems subterrranean in more ways than one, and so grim.

  5. heavy with emo...the loss...dont know whether to curse the driver or thank him for waking you up...nice ami