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Terreson Profile
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Shy Friends



Shy Friends

The weather has been cold and rainy. A storm came in from off the coast last night that blew the day away. It feels as if everyone has left town this morning, and I still don’t understand why they had to go. Or why they can’t stay with you who are so lovely. Keeping true to you, keeping to the underscent of your winds. And even in winter there are your late, sleepless hours when your heaviness keeps close. Yours is the only truth I’ve ever known.

I guess it doesn’t matter. There never has been much point in talking to closed doors. When I stop to think about it, we really have been more like dream players in each other’s sleep, or like unstuck tourists in time, than like intent and thirsty lovers. We have just reeled out the seasons at such an easy rate, and we’ve tossed down the days in a high speed blur. When the time finally came to awaken from our dreams, who could be blamed if the liquid images and the cooling palms were dissolved in smoky gray wisp?

Matters could be worse, I suppose. Even if I shall have to find another dreamy sequence, if only for a brief season. The earth is fallen down between these old mountains, and the year closed us in, letting swallowtails go. Autumn’s blue clarity has slipped off into the distance, and the time just got taut on strings of wildeyed masks dangling from limbs of an old gnarled oak. Already the storms of winter December spread a cloak over that oak, and in the crusty frozen field her new green child will get conceived. Funny how he’s never born at home.

Still I see no reason why we can’t throw caution and self-esteem to the wind, toasting a glass to each other, and to the icy child’s mother, while the old year gets strung up to freeze. Maybe if we linger for awhile, and draining the next glass slowly, we can open up the streams and unlock the cellars. We can forget ourselves and play foolishly one more time. We can drink to the health of all shy friends, and to wide-eyed girls secretly patting damp eyes dry, who have settled themselves well.
Apr/1/2012, 4:50 pm Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson
 
Christine98 Profile
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Re: Shy Friends


Tere, this beautiful. Perfect/Painful/Poignant/Powerful...all the overused "P" words. Did I remember to include "Exquisite?"

Now I'm indescribably sad...

Chris
Apr/2/2012, 8:52 am Link to this post Send Email to Christine98   Send PM to Christine98
 
Katlin Profile
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Re: Shy Friends


Tere,

This is lovely and as moving as Burn's "Auld Lang Syne," which always makes me sad as well, and yet. . . and yet the cup of kindness kept for us, for dreamers one and all.
Apr/2/2012, 12:21 pm Link to this post Send Email to Katlin   Send PM to Katlin
 
vkp Profile
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Re: Shy Friends


Yes, this is sad, because it so delicately and subtly cuts a thin slice -- the kind where the blood only seeps up after a moment and you think maybe there is no cut after all -- through the awful acceptance of something less. Settling.... Closed doors -- the only truth I've ever known. It comes all too close for me.
Apr/3/2012, 5:19 am Link to this post Send Email to vkp   Send PM to vkp Blog
 
Terreson Profile
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Re: Shy Friends


Thank you all for reading. And registering a response. Getting a visceral reaction produces a slightly guilty pleasure. Then again it is the most of what every writer most wants.

Tere
Apr/3/2012, 5:17 pm Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson
 
Maria Divina Profile
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Re: Shy Friends


This piece resonates with me, Tere, for various reasons. First of all because I can identify with the friends, the you who is lovely yet lonely, and also the speaker.

On no other day than end of a year do we really feel the need to stop and reflect on beginnings and ends, only to realize that we may be stuck in the middles and so either we remain stuck or we have to do something to move on.

Perhaps the you who is so lovely is someone or something dear to the speaker - or simply a melancholy day, the last day before the beginning of a new season.

I want to picture the shy friends as days. These days turn into closed doors. Maybe they will haunt, maybe fill other days with tender memories, but they cannot return, there is no way one can undo the knots, open the doors without a key.

And yet the ending conveys a sense of self-acceptance, as if all of a sudden truth, even if for a brief moment, appears like a dream.

Thanks.

Maria
Apr/4/2012, 12:06 pm Link to this post Send Email to Maria Divina   Send PM to Maria Divina
 
Terreson Profile
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Re: Shy Friends


Thank you, Maria. Funny what this prose poem ellicits. To me the piece is sociological. So many brave young friends lost to compromise.

Tere
Apr/6/2012, 7:43 pm Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson
 


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