Golden Gloves to Wilder Soul

          Ok, the symbolism task was NOT EASY yesterday, but one writer took the challenge head on and did a great job–connotation, symbolism, and allusion to show depth. The trouble is, I don’t know the NAME of this person, or where she’s from, but her (his?) pseudonym is…

WILDER SOUL

It’s 15:23 and I am cold, and the pot of water is boiling faster on the stove.

Faster than I can run and stop it.

With a blow.

The steam dissipates

and my cup is empty, hollow,

and bone white

I pour the boiling liquid by the brimful

One for you

One for me

Taste of amber, on the tip of my tongue

Burning memories permanently over hazier sun-filled days

You wait for the steam to slow its roiling

and sip when almost cool…

Eyes setting below rim of your cup

beaming directly at me.

Drained, the cup is stained

with a glimmering reflection.

It’s 15:30 and it took a shorter time than I thought.

On the surface, in this poem, it’s a simple activity–making a cup of tea for two. But notice that only one cup is described as “empty, hollow, and bone white,” and that innocence and emptiness belongs to the speaker of the poem. “Boiling,” “blow,” “hollow,” “burning,” “burning,” and “drained,” in particular, have strong negative connotation; there’s a discomfort here, between the two people. “Sun-filled days” of the past are veiled by the present, and the steam here shows that.  One drinks the liquid hot, the taste of amber on the tongue, while the other waits for it to cool. It might be a comment on their relationship with each other as well. The eyes are disturbing here too, as is the final line of it taking “a shorter time than I thought.” It might not just be the tea time that’s ended early. Is it their relationship, or is it that one person has passed, and the speaker is pouring two cups of tea in order to remember past shared times together? It could be another reason why one cup is left to cool.

Now, Wilder Soul, I may have mucked the meaning of your poem, and if I did, I apologize, but what I love about your poetry is that the way you’ve described these simple images leaves room for some ambiguity and different interpretations. The discomfort clearly comes through, but we the readers are uncomfortable figuring out just what it is causing it. And each time I look back, I see another detail–sunrise vs. eyes setting, eyes below the rim of the cup, and the moment is over in an instant. If this person is alone, NOW what does she do with the rest of her day? That didn’t fill up much of the time…

Haunting, in a way. Disturbing. And worthy of a Golden Gloves Award!

Now, do we get a first name and country you’re from? (Update–we have a name… Anasera, also from New Zealand! Do they grow poets over there or what?)

Oh, and I almost forgot–here’s a link to Wilder Soul’s web site!