Connie Post Poetry Collection
’ Til Divorce Do Us Part…
As we all know, divorce is a painful event. But we can heal from it. Millions of people go through it every year. This is a book of poetry that reflects on the different aspects of the end of matrimony.
In the Quiet ~ Copyright by Connie Post ~
They had an argument on night.She did not speak to him the next day,Or the next.Soon, he began to ask questionsHoping that she would answer,And that her words would massageThe aching space between them.Often, when asked what was wrong,She did not answer.When she did,She gave excuses,About being tired, or distractedOr too busy.In bed one night,She rolled over, and againFaced away from him.Her light, silken nightgrownFell between her shoulder blades,Resting there for as long as she stayedIn that position.He stared at her contoured, muscular backFor a long time.He was through asking her questionsBut still wondered what went wrongBetween them.He knew the truth rested there somewhere,Between her breathing and her silence.
The Empty Ring Finger ~ Copyright by Connie Post ~
Unencircled by goldUntouched by fourteen karate commitmentUnleashed from his hand in yoursUnattached from any other fingersThat many have ever laced themselvesIn yoursUnprotectedFrom any new ringThat might try to settle itself thereTry to pretend it cared or would stayUnwanted byHands that do not know herUnveiled from its band of ever after
A Brief Summer Wind ~ Copyright by Connie Post ~
She and the sky wore aDress of blue.She danced with blades of grass,While the cherry sunLet them drink windThrough the straw field.She and summer windMade dandelion love.She rose to meet attentive breezesThat warmed herUnlike the marriageShe had leftJust the week before.
Black Birds ~ Copyright by Connie Post ~
Sometimes when I am driving,There are blackbirds fluttering and landingIn the middle of the roadway.I drive towards them,At my regular speed.But at times,It feels like I might run into them.I even imagine the sceneAnd it repeats itself several times in those few, quick secondsThat my foot hesitates at the accelerator.But as always,The birds take flight at just that last second,Before destruction actually descends upon them.I always wonder,How do they know…What exact moment to leave,To take flight,Abandoning the earthbound road beneath them.How were they given this special knowledgeOf leaving,And why can’t they give it to me.I want to learn to fly awayFrom the wheels, that embrace meAnd won’t let me leave…
Her Garden ~ Copyright by Connie Post ~
She steps carefullyUpon a gentle soilIt has been waiting for her.She does not weed outWhat she does not have to.She does not uprootWhat does not need to be taken.The silent noon sun hovers in MayAs the hours pass like an unheard cadence.She snaps off withered budsShe can hear them calling outLike the silent broken vows she can hardly remember.Over time,She begins to knead the dirt like a baker works raw dough.The water leaks evenly from her chosen garden hose,It turns to a rich, brown gravy that sheOnly she can pourThe bulbs call to her,She buries them as deep as she feels in necessary.The seeds of her mourningPull her to sunset.She can go inside the house nowShe can finally go inside.
Connie Post web site : www.poetrypost.com