The Past (2)

New month, new poem

Despite my intentions, sometimes life gets in the way. This January I’ve had very little slack in my day-to-day for creating polished works or writing (you should see the state of my drafts - so many essay stubs of ideas I want to share with you all when I finally get some time and space to sit and think!). Alas life circumstances are what they are, and we have to prioritise what we have to prioritise.

I anticipate much of the same in February, then (touch wood, crossed fingers) I’m expecting things to ease up in March and for me to find some much needed creative space in the rest of 2023.

In the meantime, I fit in what I can in the time and space that I have when the creative impulse strikes me. So for the start of February, here’s another poem about the past. (You can read the previous one here.)

---

Past (2)

I'm trapped in the past again
                                 (I'm trapped in the past)

What do I do when I'm trapped in the past
But the past is comfy
                     and the present, isn't

The dark and bitter notes
       of long-abandoned hopes
                heavy like a hazelnut praline hug

The past is amber whisky
         sticky, sweet and sickly
                  she oh-so-softly saves me
                                from a dry January sky

Savouring the shadow of a touch that reminds me
of another's touch, that reminds me
of a mother that I don't remember,
another mother, more perfect than the present

      A hug that holds me in an old place
      where it only hurts in familiar ways
      Nothing is too cold, too dry, too blue
      when holding on to a figment of you

      I stay in the past until
                                 somebody makes me
                                 or the present wakes me