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The Tiff

For now,
I enjoy standing
here at my window
with the open white
of an apple
weeping a sweetness
down my wrist.
The sky is perfectly
white and I can
only see
the freezing rain
if I lower my gaze
to the blackened windows
of the neighboring building.

But you,
always looking ahead,
you see a difficult
drive home.

We come to the station,
both of us crisp
and the car stuffed
with bitter icicles-
the proof of cold articulations
about nothing
important anyway.

My fingers
are tucked into my armpits
as I slouch and glare.
Apples always
seem to give me indigestion.
I force my eye
toward puddles
not yet frozen.

And when you
come back from paying,
you fix everything
with, “Want my gloves?”
“No,” I say. “It’s getting warmer now.

But thanks.”

Hi Manna ~

I love your choice of details in describing where we've all been, what we've all been through, with just minor variations.

I enjoyed the contrast of the sweet opulence of the apple, even to the extent of its "weeping" its sweetness down your wrist, with the frigid atmosphere and other details that follow. The "open white" of the apple, the sky "perfectly white;" yet the "blackened windows" of your neighbors.

The added detail of the apple always giving you indigestion was a little surprize tucked into your verse, the same as your fingers were into your armpits, for warmth, as well as a reenforcement of your closed-off attitude.

both of us crisp
and the car stuffed
with bitter icicles-
the proof of cold articulations
about nothing
important anyway.

I like this unique description and, again, the contrast with the degree effect vs. the insignificance of the impetus. Both of you made fully "crisp," the car "stuffed" with "bitter" icicles... "the proof of cold articulations" [I love that phrase!]... and then, it all collapses conceptually with "nothing important anyway."

The only part I'm confused by is your wishing for bombs in the ruddy sunset. That's a very extreme line, given that this is a tiff. With today's world being as it is, it also begs the response, "No you don't."

Your conclusion is a sweet one of "awwwww" ~ knowing how difficult that breaking of ice can be, yet the break from each other allowed that 'fresh start' ~ neither you nor he, the same as the puddle, had yet frozen over. Yes, indeed, the question alone had brought a sweet warmth into the car.

Well, yes, Manna... I sure did enjoy this descriptive poem.


~ Lizzy

This started as two poems. I wrote the bit about the tiff itself earlier, but I had written it as hot instead of cold. There were fumes rising from hot sh*t we'd thrown across the front seat, etc. It was a bigger fight than how I have it now. But there were some major flaws in it, so I put it away for a while. I often find this to be helpful - to let a poem just steep through my brain for a few weeks/months. I haven't taken years yet, but I may someday.

Then today, I was standing at a window, eating an apple at work watching the rain/ice falling, and I had to write about it. My husband is very future oriented while I am very right-now oriented, and I was going to end it with that, but I wasn't completely satisfied. But then I thought that ending it that way sounded like a disagreement, and I had this other ditty about a tiff, so I tagged them together and made it cold sh*t instead of hot. (I don't know why, but I have had a real potty mouth all day. Sorry.) Then I stuck that bit about indigestion in there, which is true, but which also seems a little contrived to me. It is contrived, but if it works, it's OK.

So that brings me to the bombs. Hmm. Thinka thinka. I was pretty pissed, sitting there fuming. My little fantasies tend to be over-the-top. I've had fantasies about leaving my daughter at the side of the road when she won't stop crying in the car. Of course, I'd never do this, but having a little fantasy doesn't hurt anything. But that has diddly to do with these bombs. They were there, but I don't know if they're worthy of being part of this poem. Plus, bombs and ruddy sunsets sound hot/warm, and this was supposed to be a cold fight, so maybe they're no good. I also wanted some time to pass between getting to the station and his return from paying, but I may have that in the rest of that stanza.

Lizzy, thanks for reading & taking the time to comment. It's always appreciated.

Hi Manna ~

Your process was even more interesting than I'd anticipated. I like the idea of taking a 'hot' poem and turning it 'cold' and vice versa. They are so distinctly different in the ways of disagreement, but in other ways, the same at the core [not an intentional pun ], but as you said about your indigestion with apples, I think I'll leave it. I understand your need to let the passage of time happen in some kind of way, but glad to hear you're not attached to keeping the bombs on the horizon. You're welcome for the feedback; it was all very enjoyable doing it. I know others would have their own comments, likely to bring out different things. I also like that you opted to demonstrate warmth at the end vs. drawing lines of delineation between you two.


~ Lizzy

Evocative. Beautiful. I shivered. Thank you.

I thought the "bombs" worked well.
To me, "the bombs in the ruddy sunset" represented your momentary madness/desire for a real war, rather than this "cold war" going on between you and your man.
I love this interpretation, even if it is unfounded.
But I always get carried away
Matj

Those are interesting thoughts, too, Mat. Not the way I saw it, as I missed the connection and the thought of, "Let's just escalate this and get it over with!" Manna may decide to keep that wording. Still, it seemed jarring to me for a poem titled "tiff," the disagreement based on minor things, and that was resolved via an offer of gloves; for me, still disproportionate to the situation.


~ Lizzy

mat james wrote:I thought the "bombs" worked well.
To me, "the bombs in the ruddy sunset" represented your momentary madness/desire for a real war, rather than this "cold war" going on between you and your man.

I don't think that anyone desires war and as our friend Bob says

"What looks large from a distance
Close up ain't never that big"

I took out the bombs. If I'm going to make it get warmer at the end, and have this mean that the fight is over, I shouldn't allow for warmth before that. If I'm day-dreaming about bombs, and then I say that it's getting warmer, it sounds like I'm putting off the BIG FIGHT for later while I plan my attack. That's not how I want to end this.

Not only were the bombs [in my view] disproportionate to the situation; it appears they were superfluous, as well. I just reread your poem and not only are they not missed and the poem flows on its own without them, but I can't even tell now where they were stuck in the first place . I like the feeling of the poem much better now. The bombs were an unnecessary distraction... to put it in understatement form.


~ Lizzy

I still like the bombs.

I still like the bombs.

Hi Mat ~

Perhaps, you'll write a poem using bombs as a theme, or an element, then . I'll be interested to see how yours will read.


~ Lizzy

Lizzy,
I was going to say something similar, but I was afraid of being too flip.
Me:
You:

Hi Manna ~

I think your poem is lovely the way it is now... I also like the considerations you made for how it should or shouldn't end. Each of the different endings bespoke a different level of resolution and goodwill in the relationship. In the way you structured it here, your willingness to cross the divide, in response to a gesture of sharing something that literally brings warmth, succeeded in underscoring the turn toward warmth in your interaction, and was wholly in keeping with how less deeply the lines would be drawn in a tiff. Bomb fantasies are more in keeping with forging cataclysmic divides, more appropriate to physical or mental abuse or divorce in the relationship.

Since Mat mentioned his attachment to the bomb idea, twice, it seemed reasonable that, since he's resonating with the image to that extent, it would probably be more appropriate to be used in a poem of his own, since you had abandoned it in yours.

I didn't realize I was lending a hand there, but happy to have helped ... especially when it spared you this:


~ Lizzy

I think your poem is lovely the way it is now...

Hi Mat ~

Perhaps, you'll write a poem using bombs as a theme, or an element, then.

bombs among the rubble

"The Tiff" explodes with impact..
It's a blast
that shatters the nice view
of lovely relationships
exposing the inherent
schizm in bondage
the cold cravasse
of distance
two T-bones
in the freezer


then heals the wound
with the bomb
of gentleness

that shatters
the cold skeletal structures
the icey cliffs
of separation

to union
among the rubble
...in the sun of love.

Matj