Lovers' Quarrel
by Timothy Reed
In starry cottage robbed of balance
‘ere the dawn of firstborn day
two lovers split and promptly severed
left their home and parted way.
By the burning light she smolders
in her silent rage she bakes
cakes from gardens, blackened forests —
steals the shimmer from the lakes.
In the evening glow she softens
as her sorrow blends with care.
As she ponders past offenses,
breathing frost into the air.
He grabs his pail and gets up early
with yellow boots and whistling birds;
tries to bury seeds of sorrow
‘neath the dirt and ‘neath the words.
Things he said and left unspoken,
memories stacked in hay-bales, grey.
He spills his pail in torrents streaming,
sets a match to end of day.
Still they fight, and still they suffer
o’er our sorrow-torn landscape
bringing good and bad together
in their lovers’-quarrel wake.
We sit beneath them, sit beside them
in each dire situation
as we look on earth together
longing for their re-creation.
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The challenge today was to imagine the seasons as people and to write about how they feel. Since I've spent a good portion of time in the tropics, I tend to think of two seasons rather than four. Both seasons have things harsh and gentle about them. Consequently, since there are two seasons, I personified them as a fighting couple. They are farmers, meant to tend the earth. Now, in the excess of their sorrow and anger, they unintentionally harm the very earth of which they were given to take care. This certainly describes the seasons, but also our relationships and the natural effects and progression of grief and broken relationship.
