Search This Blog

Wednesday, March 11, 2015

Evening Vespers

Photo by Matthew Savage
The sun has drifted to its rest
Upon Horizon’s cobalt nest
And night songs of the—
“HEY! THAT’S MINE! GIVE IT BACK!”
                                                —evening trees
blow in the zephyr’s wake and please
my harkened soul—
“I HAD IT FIRST!”
                                    —at such a time
when peace and stillness become mine—
(Ear-splitting screech.) “DON’T YOU HIT ME! MOM, SHE HIT ME!”
and Day’s relentless work has ceased
upon the tides of—
“I’M GONNA BREAK YOUR LEGO CASTLE INTO A MILLION PIECES!”
                                    —blessed peace
“I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!”
“Girls! We don't use hurtful words! Now brush your teeth and get your PJs on!”
then full within the calming heart
come whispers of divine
“SHE STOLE MY TOOTHPASTE! THE CHERRY IS MINE!”
“HUH-UH! YOURS IS THE STRAWBERRY ONE!”
                                            —impart
that call the stars to take their place
in dark, celestial
“EW! SHE SPIT TOOTHPASTE ON THE MIRROR, MOM!”
“Girls, don’t make me come up there!”
                                —window case
like eyes of angels, casting low
their guardianship—
“YOU COME BACK HERE AND CLEAN OUT THE SINK! I MEAN IT!”
                                    —on all below
“DO IT YOURSELF!”
and think I that their holy wings
could wing away all irksome things
“RAAHHHHAAHHHRRRR!”
(Terrified screeching in two voices.)
“Stop scaring your sisters! I'm serious!”
that trample down all patience, joy,
delight to vex, gall, pique —
(Malicious boy laughter.)
“HEY!”
“HEY!”
“HEY!”
“LET’S GET HIM!!!”
“NO! Go into your own rooms and get ready for bed!”
“BUT I HAVEN’T BRUSHED MY TEETH YET!”
“Then brush them!!!”
                                                —annoy.
Calm, Mother. Rest thy anxious soul.
The night unfurls, a sacred scroll,
a text of ancient, learned hours
for thy repose and ‘plenished bowers.
And still—
“MOM! WHERE ARE MY CHEETAH-PRINT FOOTIE PJs?!?”
“They’re in the wash.”
“I CAN’T SLEEP IN ANYTHING ELSE!”
“Yes, you can!”
“NO, I CAN’T!!!”
“Just put something on your body!”
“I’M SLEEPING COMMANDO, THEN.”
“It’s getting down to twelve degrees tonight!”
“I DON’T CARE!!!”
“Whatever. Do whatever you want. Just get into bed!”
            —the creatures of the eve
stalk wild upon this native heath
and would, giv’n but a space of breath
“RAAHHHHAAHHHRRRR!”
(Terrified screeching in two voices.)
“I swear if you do that one more time I’m coming up there and you’re going to wish you’d never been born!!!”
do all within this house to death.
Please, God. Dear God. Oh, God, upstairs—
“I’m coming up to hear your prayers—
five minutes!”                        —and this day is done.
I’ve no enthuse to see the sun
arise, because it wakes these beasts
that feed upon me, ravage, feast—
“WHERE’S TEDDY?!? YOU TOOK HIM! GIVE HIM BACK!!!”
their feckless rants against each other—
“I DON’T HAVE YOUR STUPID TEDDY BEAR!”
beget here nerve-enfractured
“GET IN BED, ALL OF YOU!!!”
                                                     Mother
Need I but a sanctuary
Still and dark as January
“STOP JUMPING ON MY BED!”
“RAAHHHHAAHHHRRRR!”
(Terrified screeching in two voices.)
“I SWEAR BY ALL THAT’S HOLY I’M GOING TO FLAY EVERY ONE OF YOU WITHIN MILLIMETERS OF YOUR LIVES IF YOU DON’T GET INTO BED RIGHT NOW!!!”
Father, help me. Peace, I beg.
Help get these savages abed.
This woman’s soul is shredded, spent—
“MY PILLOW’S DOWN IN THE BASEMENT!”
“I DON’T CARE! YOU DON’T NEED A PILLOW!”
“EW! I THINK THE CAT PEED ON MY COMFORTER!”
“IT’LL DRY!!!”
Night, oblivion, onyx sky
“MOM? I DON’T FEEL SO GOOD…”
Why, dear Heaven, why oh why?
(BARF)

“GROSS!!! She puked! It’s all over everything!”

Sigh.

The morrow will arrive, its glow
an east-born west-bound circling foe flow
another day, another eve—
“MOM! ARE YOU COMING TO CLEAN THIS UP? IT STINKS!!!”

“Oh, son-of-a— #@&*#— Fine!
I’m done with the freaking poetry!
Yes, I’m coming to clean up the puke!
Here I come, right now!”

Stomp, stomp, stomp the stairs—

“Mommy?”
“WHAT?!?”
“How come you’re always in such a bad mood at night?”

                                    —Such are th’affairs
Of vespers.
Every eve.

(Your email address will never be sold or shared.)

1 comment: