Almost Home

Remembering a Valentine sent to me by a poet from India,1989
You meet the moment with your solace thought.
Your fingers sketch a gray house far away.
Its window lights are warming cool resolve.
I think and know that we are almost home.

They tell me that a red bird has no soul
And yet I choose it for my metaphor.
Its spirit skims above half-frozen roads.
One hand is clapping for the death

With beautiful precision how your words
Eliminate each snowflake from my mind.
Yes, I accept your red bird valentine
Praising the strength that thought it over seas.

by Sandra Fowler

Comments (24)

Such a simple trigger - a Valentine's card - and yet what a beautiful bouquet of poetic flowers grow from it. Your 'soulless' red bird is particularly evocative 'And yet I choose it for my metaphor.' Sandra, you and metaphor are like Domingo and Pavarotti. You sing beautifully together. Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
Very beautiful exposition of poetic the plexus time space & distance, well textured along with symmetry, suggests the sense of ingenuity expressed in the poem - the acceptance of valentine from a souless bird & finally trans-assimilation of gestures suigeneris. well expressed Sandra, love it how its flow. Micah
Another treasure Sandra, you are an artist without a doubt. Melvina
Beautiful, just balm for the soul willing to receive the gift of its freshness, wisdom and insight. Yes, Sandra yes! Bill Grace
Your keen ability to take a simple idea or theme and create a firework display of imagery around it & within it, is truly facinating...Sandra, this, as yet another fine example of your superior artistry. FjR
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