Is it the solemn adoration of what has been
built slowly over time, detail upon meticulous detail,
forged upon the once barren framework of this: my frail structure.
Or the deafening pang of exhaustion, before
a long and desperately desired reprieve into sleep.
The inability to grasp, obtain and hold on to the Calm.
The slow unwind of my mind leaves behind
the sour rind of fruits taken too late from branches
bent over under the burden of their weight.
Stretched and pulling downwards to the fertile expanses
of my skin, from far below my navel up beyond the barely visible
landscape of what was my ribcage, uneven
and contorted from ancient ravaging harvests.
Now, there are no hands here to console,
no whispers and no kind glances between the arching limbs
and the leaves of this, our plentiful fruit tree
dropping its rot along paths once pristine and precious.
Or are they there even still, as water washes over.
The ticking of the clock sears into the silence as if to count
time that has gone over. A chime for each movement
towards the edge of this precipice: the unpayable debt.
“The Quiet” ©July 2011 by Natalie Webster, all rights reserved by the poet
Natalie Webster’s poetry has been published in Take It to the Street Poetry’s Force Fed as well as on the on-line blog Infloressence. She received her B.A. in Language Studies from the University of California at Santa Cruz and is currently pursuing a Master’s in Counseling Psychology from John F. Kennedy University. Her spare time is spent working creatively with children’s art classes on painting, creating and writing who, for better or for worse, are her muses. Natalie keeps a web scrapbook of inspirations and writing sketches at Ice and Coffee.