wholly holy Holly
early morning, and drunk again,
at a café-bar high-window
I watched Holly stumble from the door
of the local ‘ice-dream’ parlour,
sallow skin, sunken dark-rimmed eyes –
jagged cheek bones, unkempt hair,
ragged, staggering – far past caring
this? not the Holly I remember –
not the high-wire ballerina
who danced life as carefree,
as I danced too, some years ago,
but then duty’s chains imprisoned me
in my treasure chest of fantasy
her smile could draw sunflowers’ faces
from high-noon sun to gaze upon her
and genuflect in reverence
at her passing regal progress
are you that Holly who saved my life
stuck half-in, half-out, a window
giggling Nessun Dorma – breaking
my influenza whiskey stupor
while the kitchen blazed on fire?
I’m sorry, Holly, you must endure
the fate of every free-form saint
and *holy fool* in history
I’m sorry, Holly – you saved my life
but
I’m sorry, Holly – I can’t save yours
The *Holy Fool* or yuródivyy (юродивый) is the Russian version of foolishness for Christ, a peculiar form of Eastern Orthodox asceticism. The yurodivy is a Holy Fool, one who acts intentionally foolishly in the eyes of men.
Reading this, I see I have lived a sheltered life. I think you should go and save Holly. I would try if I could. Sounds as though she needs it.
The ‘I’ character is a habitual drunk – thus incapable of any significant rescue. He would if he could. Holly is, as he is, a victim of the promethean hubris that they could escape the shackles of ‘normal life’ – once they set themselves adrift as it were, dancing into freedom, the razor rocks are there to run their ‘ship of life’ upon and sharks abound. This life is not for dreamers 🙂
If the N is not you, why have you written the poem in the first person?
My poem my world my rules 🙂
p.s. outside my imagination, Holly does not exist either, and the kitchen never caught fire 🙂
Of course.
I have been both the Fool and the Holly at one time or another and I can appreciate the contrast as well as the construct here. Plus, it has a really nice little jaunting rhythm.
blessings,
jolen
Thanks, Jolen, I aimed for 8 syllable lines – but now and again went to nine. I, too have been both holy fool and druggie – survived both states 🙂 Rick.