Winter in August (the deep malaise)

in the deep malaise of the day to day

we ceased seeking the ethos of Eros

anesthetized by the passage of time

avarice withered with atrophy

resembling the gradual annihilation

of wildflowers in October

wounded in imperceptible increments

we laid in trenches that we carved

into labyrinthine canyons

of unfolded laundry

and there is where

we began to hibernate

a hiemal presence entered

through hair splits in the foundation

of our modest brown bungalow

absorbing into the apple waxen shine

of the floorboards

it eased into the soles

of your weld singed boots

it entwined the columns

of my vintage heels

as if— in its own private Eden

the cold made an enclave in the marrow

of our collarbones

it eye’d with great fascination

the beating alters in our chests

where timeless vows were interred

consecrated with the very fires

it would seek to eradicate

with frigid gales of errand

an oven in need of cleaning

weeds asphyxiating the garden

diapers and dilapidated fences

winter in August settled in

with it’s palpable discontent

we remained this way

in a season that we couldn’t name

nor a marriage that we could recognize

in the deep malaise of the day to day

our eyes eventually raised and met like arrows

across a great fog of indifference

and with a single smile

it was the recognition of Spring

our bodies began to thaw

rivers formed beards of honeysuckle

bluejays laid eggs in the branches

of our arms

as we reached for one another

and love, as if it never left

was known

and welcomed home again

a. duncan, 2019


 

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Amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus || Love is rich with both honey and venom

9 thoughts on “Winter in August (the deep malaise)

  1. Another wow from me. As someone experiencing literal winter in August I am hoping for this thaw that you describe so beautifully in this poem. I love the language that you used, I got lost in the melody of it, by the end it rang like bluebells.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. We all have winters that seem to creep up and linger, in ourselves, in our relationships, our views of the world… ebbs and flows. You have a gorgeous soul and I will be promptly requesting the universe to usher in Spring for you, my dear. “The end it rang like bluebells” what an immense compliment. 🦋💙

      Liked by 1 person

  2. The way you use metaphors and weave in together the language is to me spectacular
    and monumentally masterful.

    The August feel is here in L.A. is hot as oppose to winter. I want my winter already.

    Love your work April as always. My heart is happy to read your brilliant mind. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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