The Letter
Last Thursday, I received a longed-for gift: a letter from my dearest friend, she who had called me her ‘other half’. As I eagerly opened the envelope, impersonal in its typewritten formality, my eyes flew to the familiar sprawling signature — and caught at the words directly above: “I know this will hurt you terribly …” Her words spoke a complete break in our friendship. Absent our daily contact, she needed to trivialize what we had between us, soul-sisters, in order to safely throw it away. At a distance she could not hold me close – and no feeling, need or word of my own could bridge that gap.
The Dance
Two preying mantises dance face-to-face,
now turning outward in the same direction,
their ritual of connection and renewal
defining a circle of completion,
their green legs intertwined, bodies one.
In denouement, one bites off
the oblivious other’s head, leaving
his body to thrash about in the grass
to die — and, so painfully, a new life
can be birthed.
The Glove
Its firm support guided the hand
in work and play,
to the touch at once
one with the hand
and separate.
One day, removing the glove,
the wearer noted a snag,
tossed it aside.
House No Longer a Home
That July night our lives would change,
hers and mine as, unaware in sleep, we became
unwitting accomplices to our own
future nightmares; while below,
unwelcome intruders invaded and violated
our space, our home — this rape
of trust and security from my five-year-old
the realization of my most impotent mothering.
Comfort in the night could be no more;
anxiety and watchful wakefulness our
mid-night companions now, undoing the rhythm
of our days, the calm of our hearts.
So it was when my friend entered mine — but
mistaking me for someone else, cut off
in its quiet
our lifeline.
Spring
Radiant, brightly garbed and fragrant
she appears, sprung complete
from the barren forehead of winter–
sometimes precipitously
but always responsive to the eager yearnings
of hearts and souls cramped
from their long winter of silent darkness
longing to be free, connect
with freshly awakened kindred spirits.
Such a spring seems it might just last
forever.
Sarah W. Bartlett has published poems in journals including the Aurorean, LiteraryMama, Minerva Rising, SheMom, Halfway Down the Stairs, Writer’s Digest Poetic Asides. She authored a chapter in the critically acclaimed Women on Poetry: Writing, Revising, Publishing and Teaching (McFarland & Co., Inc., 2012); two in Contemporary American Women: Our Defining Passages, (All Things That Matter Press, 2009); and a personal essay in Ars Medica. Her first chapbook of poems is Into the Great Blue: Meditations of Summer (Finishing Line Press). She co-edited HEAR ME, SEE ME: Incarcerated Women Write (Orbis Books, 2013) as a result of her writing program for self-discovery and social change with Vermont’s incarcerated women (www.writinginsidevt.com). She blogs at sarahwbartlett.com.
These poems were written to a series of prompts which Sarah used with her writing groups: to write about a situation in terms of an insect; article of clothing; house; and season. ‘The Letter’ sets the context of the story – a relationship in which what the narrator felt/wanted did not match what the friend felt/wanted.
Photo credit: Hello!Lucky stationary – http://www.hellolucky.com/
