Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

The Leaf lackadaisically fell to my feet,
slowly, like a lazy yawn.

I bent over quickly,
gently picking him up by the stem
before anyone could take him from me.

I took a moment to study him,
a jaundiced soul with delicate red veins.
The crisp edges slightly curled upward
perhaps in an attempt
to get closer to the heavens.

"You've spared me,"
He said softly,
as I cupped him in my hands.
"thank you."

He and I looked at one another,
each contemplating the other.

"What do you wish for?"
I suddenly asked, a sweet autumnal breeze
rattling the Leaf slightly in my hands.

"Oh...I long to fly off, past these cold, impersonal structures.
Past glassy storefronts and tiny rooftop patios,
past the bushels of people and potholed streets."
said the Leaf, in a languid sort of way.

"Fly past the constant drone,
the never-ending noise of machinery.
To fly past it all.
To- to finally land in the arms of the ocean,
to taste the salty sweetness of the waves...
Let myself float away into a wet existence."

The Leaf sighed,
tiredly and wistfully.

I recalled all the pasty blotches
of mustard and auburn I'd seen
on uneven sidewalks,
leaves trampled under rainboots and stilettos
too self-absorbed to notice.

I didn't want this fate for the Leaf.
A wet escape from a dry death
seemed a dignified prospect for him.

"Would you like to come along with me?"
I asked, already walking towards my destination.
I mapped his departure
with the proximity of the water mass closest to me.

"Surely." The Leaf replied
and I tucked him snugly into my coat pocket,
in the company of tiny lint balls and a bobby pin.

I strode past the noisy city streets,
my reflection bouncing back at me
in shiny glass storefronts.

I very carefully made my way
around the squashed brethren of the Leaf,
too embedded into the cracks of the concrete
to be saved.

I walked until the water came upon my eyes.
The FDR drive behind me, the unforgettable sound
of clinks and clanks,
wheels grinding into gravel.

I pulled the Leaf out, gently.

"Now you are free to fly." I whispered,
cupping him in my hands again.

I heard a soft sigh come from the Leaf
and he very quietly thanked me.
I surveyed our surroundings
and knew it to be the perfect fit for him.

"I believe I am ready." The Leaf murmured
and I lightly let the wind take him away.
He swirled about happily,
circling the waves below him until finally,
at last,
the Leaf was home.


LT
9/29/10

terrific metaphor, lucy....open to so much.....yet grounded in our connection to all life, something that could benefit from our willingness to not be so self-centered........magical, like a fairytale.........

Lucy, Great whimsical piece! Hope to see more of these. An unusual narration!

sweet meeting, Lucy!. Good for the heart!!

And a leaf in the fall had been found
like a flounder that fell to the ground
and the leaf could be heard as it strained,
“Let me leave!” The leaf purred as it rained
and it drowned as it drained to the sound.


for those less lucky, less blessed, perhaps...beautiful words, Lucy

I enjoyed your poem Lucy, warm and tender. Relationships with inanimate objects is special and it was special for me several years ago when I pen a poem of which your write reminded me. I dug it out and copied it here.

hope you enjoy.
Scott


Shred of Mop

Oh little shred of mop,
how could they leave you here?
Away from mom and pop.
Your handle and your
bucket lair.

You're pinched in that crevasse,
as I sit here on the throne.
In my hand a demitasse,
in this house
that's not a home.

You must be in a lot of pain
between that base and hardwood floor.
suffering without complaint.
left carelessly
and then ignored.

You’re looking like a little scrub
sprung from a pavement crack.
Poor forgotten little fellow,
let's pull you out
and rub your back.

So tell me what your eyes have seen
from such a vantage point?
The scarlet woman turning tricks
for faceless men
with blood filled joints.

And tell me ‘bout you poor low life,
the rags that you have met.
Forgotten world beneath our feet
of drunken sods
who hit the deck.

I’ve met some of your family
though you might think it queer;
the cloth in which I blow my nose,
the cotton swab
that cleans my ears.

The batting in my patchwork quilt,
my ink pen’s finest paper.
A heritage so rich with toil
deserves a better fate
then here.

I think I’ll take you with me.
I’ll keep you in my glasses case.
Give me a sec to wipe my ass,
we’ll get the hell
out of this place.

What say we hit the open road,
discover worlds lost.
And when it’s time to be at work,
I’ll call the boss
and fake a cough.

We’ll jet from New York to the Isles.
Balloon from Scotland o’er the seas,
Drop into port just to cavort,
then cross the Alps
and Pyrenees.

Sip coffee on a Turkish street
and browse Bazaars in Kathmandu.
We’ll scale the mountains of Tai Shan,
then stop in Seoul
for oxtail soup.

We’ll boast of all our conquests
and brag of love and lust.
We’ll smoke a joint then lose the point
and giggle
‘til we bust.

And when our journey’s over,
I’ll find you a soft home.
Where you can rest your tired tress,
no thing should have to die
alone.

Emel, your poem was touching, funny, sweet and tender, excellently written- puts mine to shame!
My favorite part:

I think I’ll take you with me.
I’ll keep you in my glasses case.
Give me a sec to wipe my ass,
we’ll get the hell
out of this place.

Thank you for sharing, I sincerely enjoyed it!