Roseate

…………………………..I count the days,
……………each night keeping track of the remainder,
…….like a child subtracting each sleep, awaiting
..the thrill of waking on Christmas day,
and yet…
and yet her arrival
 .is like the delivery of an unlikely gift,
..  .one that I expected to be a lipstick in an excruciating shade of pink,
……   .sent by a dotty aunt; or a vase that has been shattered in transit,
…………   .but turns out to be the book that I was longing for,
……………….even though, until I held it in my hand,
…………………I hadn’t known of its existence..As I unwrap the packaging
…………………..I sense…
………………….I sense that it holds a key —
……………….or more than that, it is a key —
………….]which will unlock a lifetime of doors,
…………each one containing a new secret to happiness.
………..This book has a life of its own,
………..and it does not renage on its promise.

…………….She arrives, delivered
…………….. ….by her rugged protector. As I hold my risen girl, her smile
………………………reminds me: the dotty aunt has been banished.
………………………..Her shocking jokes of cosmetic horror and broken glass
………………………..lie buried beneath my daughter’s safe castle.
…………………. …Each visit…
…………………each visit is like a revelation;
……………she is well. She speaks flowers, and when she goes
…………my words sit upon the petals of happiness that she has scattered.
………..I gradually gather them up, until I have enough
…………to describe my gratitude and love.

……………..I write…
…………………I write of her rehabilitation.
…………………..My roseate words and phrases
………………….fall fragrantly upon the page,
…………….echoing feminine grace.

..rose-stem

The Daily Post #Revelation

©Jane Paterson Basil

……….

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27 thoughts on “Roseate

    1. I’m afraid it was just a metaphor, but who knows… maybe the book is out there somewhere, though I doubt the dotty aunt would send it, as she’s a metaphor for addiction 😉

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      1. I love it. I take my chances with lay-of-page from time to time, if for no other reason than that I enjoy the whimsy of it. In the case of your poem, it left me with an added sense that your heart was smiling over the subject of your words…and I got to inherit that for a moment in reading you. Happy for you and your girl, Jane!

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        1. From where I sit, in the living room of my second floor flat, I have a view of the road. I used to see my daughter walk by. Sometimes she’d walk straight on, to see one of her dealers. who lives further down that road. Other times she would turn left toward my block, but she was too intent on her need to even glance toward my window. She had another dealer who lives in the next block to me. She was in drug psychosis, frighteningly thin, her organs were collapsing, and she wasn’t expected to live for much longer. Now, when I look out through the window, I know I won’t see her, as she’s 100 miles from here, in recovery, being looked after by a wonderful friend, and she’s happy and healthy for the first time in years. It feels like a miracle; she seemed to have gone so far away that she would never return. Yes, my heart is smiling, and I’m pleased to be able to share that happiness with you.

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          1. Afar yet, in moments passing, near again. But still far-off. A strange dichotomy, love can sometimes be. A telescope…or a microscope, you tell me? We bleed by what we see. Yes? But memory…It’s just a step to where we long to be. You are there, Jane. The walk is walked. You were always her mother. But her friend? You are at that place…and I am overjoyed at its coming. A true, true pleasure, to imagine it with you now…

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