The branches I remember
The floorboards gleam,
warm against winter’s chill.
Each room holding its breath,
walls fading with age,
but still precise.
He walks ahead,
the scent of something familiar,
sleeves rolled, hands that know care.
“My parents insisted that I…
…even empty, a house must feel loved.”
“I thought this place was rented out,”
I say, not unkind, just trying to understand—
how dirt avoids the places where ghosts are kept well.
He laughs,
as if I had told a joke.
My fingers brush the sill—no dust.
A pity!
I turn to the window,
watch the gray sky weep
the tears that fill your lungs with dampness.
I look at the garden,
bare branches shaking in the wind.
I don’t know why I ask,
but I do–
“Did they cut off the fig tree?”
His face brightens,
a match struck in a dry room.
He gestures with his hands,
his voice rising with warmth.
“Oh, yes,
last summer. The roots—
they hoarded rainwater,
flooded the cellar…
Papa tried chainsawing it drunk,
got stuck waist deep,
singing Verdi to the termites…”
I hum,
half-listening.
The heavy leaves in summer,
the fruit ripening on the wind.
I saw my life branching out before me
like the green fig tree—
No…
That one is Plath’s fig tree,
not this one...
His words keep coming,
“…and your brother yelled at us…
…but the smoke from the fire…
…it smelled like jam, remember?”
“I don’t.”
He points to the framed photos on the mantle,
me and my siblings,
me and Z and the brown-eyed boy,
and then me with a statue—
“Remember this one?” he asks.
I know the story of the statue,
I know the story of the picture,
I know what came next.
I say “That’s friend.”
And he laughs,
“You named your statue ‘friend’? How original!”
He goes on,
“This statue was made by my mother—
I gave it to you on your birthday”
“I don't remember you as a kid…”
Then I say,
“Oh, you were the kid
The who got hit by the branch..
the horse race kid…?”
He laughs like the rumble of the clouds outside.
“God, of all the things, that’s what you remember?”
“Sorry” I reply.
And he smirked,
“At least some things don’t change.”
I wonder if houses this cared for
ever want to collapse,
if varnished wood dreams of rot.
"I always thought …”
He tilts his head,
like a key turning in a lock.
“It’s just… “
He motioned me to go on
“My siblings–
They were disappointed
when they realized I only remember bits and pieces.
So I started over-explaining.”
Adding anecdotes I remember,
About incidents no one asks for.
Explaining things I can recall in a verbal diarrhea
“Because when they see I remember
at least that, then…”
I stopped as he completed– “Then they feel less guilty?”
“ I had always felt responsible
for guilt, that wasn’t mine.”
“Yeah, I figured that,”
he said—
then closed the window
just as the rain
began to fall harder.
Somewhere, the fig tree is burning,
somewhere, a woman scrubs at a stain no one sees.
And the rain—
After a long time—
the rain is not guilt.
The rain is just the rain.
@azurePond
I really like this, but meaning eludes me at the moment... it's mysterious and deep, but that final line "the rain is just the rain" speaks to me. It points out that sometimes things really are just simple and there is no meaning to derive, which is paradoxically meaningful.
Very well done, I really enjoyed the read even if it made me feel lost lol.
@cyanessence Thank you so much for such a thoughtful response .... it genuinely means a lot. I actually wrote this one in my journal so it carries a lot of personal meaning and backstories… which is probably why it feels a bit cryptic. You don’t know the “lore" lol I have other poems that make sense in this platform (that is if you are interested.. and the ones that doesnt make sense? those are the personal lore ones)..... so don’t worry about trying to make total sense of it.
Sometimes we dig for meaning in everything, and sometimes… it’s just rain. The fact that you found paradoxical meaning in that line is beautiful in itself. Thanks again for reading and responding.
@azurePond
Well that was incredibly rich and complex. So many awesome and evocative lines throughout, and wrapped up in that beautifully crafted conversational style narrative that you excel at. It is always such a treat reading your poems.
There is so much emotional weight running through the text, but it is dealt with with such subtly that it creeps up on us as we observe the dialogue between the narrator and the (I am not sure if it is a friend, a cousin, or even maybe not a real person at all but rather a side of the narrator). In fact, the more I re-read it, the more I lean towards an interpretation of the other side of the dialogue being delivered by an opposite yet complimentary aspect of the narrator, the Yang to their Yin. The narrator gives an impression of intuition, stillness, receptiveness, and darkness through their thoughts and responses. Whilst the masculine voice provides a counter balance of warmth, dynamism (in that he jostles memories that seem more vivid and active in their topics), an active energy (the way he prompts by pointing out objects, pushing for acknowledgment of shared memory). Maybe I am very off the mark, but it would not surprise me to find our wonderful poet, AzurePond, had crafted such a clever multiple layered character, a living memory that is not accessible but still present.
The poems themes on memory, choices, guilt, and forgetting are steadily unveiled in such a way that it feels like they are part teased out and part partially recalled, tantalising tastes that are foggy and muted as distant memories often are. It creates a strong sense of inner fragmentation which is masterfully echoed in the irregular stanzas.
The reference to Slyvia Plath's tree is also expertly woven in, and acts as a nice supporting and yet still counter point for the fig tree of the narrators thoughts. (It always strikes me just how well read and intellectual you are, and nuggets like this are deliciously stimulating). The narrator seems to both recall and realise shared traits of the Plath fig tree metaphor, and then seems to see their own fig tree in a different aspect altogether; one that is more elemental and beyond control rather. I could ramble on for ages on this one metaphor alone....and there is LOADS more worthy of intricate exploration. But I shall reign in my enthusiasm before it becomes tedious to read, and just give a round of admiring applause for AzurePond and her excellent work.
@BastionKnight
The poem was great! I really like your review on it, you're analytical and insightful. And so kind. Honest. You have the patience to write something so detailed. I hope I can learn to review like you, but I'm just a baby at the moment. For, I think there's a lot of meaning in poetry, and I'd like to read more and give proper feedback so as to encourage these artists.
Yes I agree with you. We all hope to write reviews like Knight. He writes amazing poems too, you can see them on his profile. However @cyanessence you already are supporting people by leaving your encouraging comments so you are on the right track!
@azurePond
*Thoroughly agrees with AzurePond's comments towards @cyanessence*
@BastionKnight First of all... let me say — it’s always such a joy to receive your response essays to my poems. Ive missed them more than I can say. Though it does worry me that you strained your health to write this I’m deeply touched that you still made the effort. It means the world to me — thank you, Sir Knight.
As always, your analysis leaves me amazed that my work can be read on such intricate and thoughtful levels. You picked up on so many subtle threads that were almost instinctively woven in — especially the duality between the voices. I absolutely loved your interpretation of the man as a the Yang to the speaker's Yin.
Thank you truly for reading with such generosity, depth and care. And no — it wasn’t tedious in the slightest. It was a gift.
@azurePond
*Smiles warmly*
@azurePond I have no idea what that poem means, sorry 😕 but I guess a loved house is a home forever 💖 it was beautifully written 💗
@Tinywhisper11 Thank you so much, Tiny. The beauty of poetry is that it can mean whatever the reader needs it to mean — and that freedom is part of what makes it special. What means the most to me, though, is that you continue to read my poems, even when they dont always make sense and still offer me so much love and support. That, to me, is what’s truly meaningful in the grand scheme of things💖
@azurePond 💖 love you friend 💖
@azurePond
@azurePond
This is a interesting poem, hard for me to get a feel of especially since I am helping my parents get two former childhood houses ready to sell.
At first for me the poem felt like the house was a extension of the narrators emotions, but as you read it seems to either be something else entirely or just represents a piece of emotion. The line "even empty, a house must feel loved" gave me personal a deeper vibe, like a smooth stone just peeking up from the bottom of a still and murky lake. Tho that vibe might have just been because I have trouble feeling emotions and sometimes feel empty myself.
Later the masculine figure gets more inquisitive almost like a inner dialogue with ones self. It gets very interesting when the masculine voice and the narrator knows different information from different perspectives tho, like they are separate people. Perhaps the masculine voice is the narrator's mental image of a influential character in their life?
Lastly at the end it shows a scene of quite and constant chaps at the end through a heavier down pour, a tree on fire, and a women scrubbing stains. However in the midst of all the chaos, whether it's mental or real, a sense of peace emanates from the narrator, as if something has changed, maybe not perfect, maybe not even enough, but better.
@7Bear7 Thank you so much for taking the time to sit with this poem— especially while you're going through something as emotionally loaded as preparing old family houses for sale. That alone adds such a poignant layer to how you read it and I’m honoured that you shared that context with me, Bear. Your reflection on the house feeling like an extension of the narrator’s emotions is really spot on. You also picked up beautifully on the dynamic between the voices. I love your reading of the masculine voice as a mental image or a stand in for someone significant. And your final thought — about the chaos and peace coexisting — gave me goosebumps. You’ve captured the essence of the ending more eloquently than I could. It’s not perfect and maybe not even enough… but something has shifted. And sometimes, that’s all the closure we get — and all we need.
Thank you again for your reading, Bear. It truly means a lot.
@azurePond
Thank you! I am glad my view was of good insight and interesting.
Looking back on my review I see so many typos and just plain confusing bits but I was tired so IDK. Also I remind myself I can feel safer and say more here on cups cuz y'all be understanding so thank you Pond, thank all you Cuppers for that! 🩵
Lastly it was a beautiful poem and fun to read, thank you for sharing something so personal even if it is hidden in poetry seeing people judge/review something personal can be very difficult and you handle it beautiful!
I haven't been on cups as much recently just been busy and tired but I look forward to reading more of your poems!
