Well, I'm back

For some masochistic reason, I am using the endquote from J.R.R. Tolkien's "Lord of the Rings" series for my title.

It has been a rather horrendous couple of months. I really don't want to go into details, but the short story is that 1. I am embroiled in what may turn out to be a legal battle with my employer, 2. I think I have met the love of my life, but he wants to move far away from the Mitten, as early as July, and 3. I have had some mystery medical symptoms, which although they do not seem particularly life threatening, they are certainly getting in the way of my general lifestyle.

I did a Native American-style Vision Quest a couple of years ago, and the image and personality of Frodo appeared many times during my Quest. So, since I really don't want to go into detail about some of the "real life" problems that I have had, I will share with you a 'persona poem' about Frodo after he returns to the Shire.

For those of you who don't know, a persona poem is written in the voice of some other individual, whether it is someone you know from "real life," or a fictional character. I posted this poem at Poetry-Free-For-All during National Poetry Writing Month (another reason that I have been absent lately--I have been trying to keep up with the poem-a-day pace of the NaPoWriMo while simultaneously finishing graduate school).

Frodo's Homecoming

It has only been a year since
I last slept in this bed. Now
the soft sheets beneath my
back and legs are foreign.

It was not the nights
sleeping on rock and ash
or the days without comfort
that removed me from this land.

Trees bloom again.
Water flows and roses grow
out of the bare soil,
slowly healing the wounds of the earth.

The sounds of joy replace
the forced silence of oppression:
Weddings, music, and laughter fill the air,
but only jangle against my ears
like the discordant sounds of strife
that I grew so used to hearing.

Now
as my arm goes cold
and the burning in my chest
keeps me pacing through my silent house,
I think of that night long ago
when my last ancestor bid me farewell
and disappeared,
innocent of his dark bequest.

On some days, when the wind is warm from the West
I can walk to the top of the knoll and stand quite still,

I can faintly perceive the scent
of the sea as it drifts inland, and for a few moments,
I shut my eyes
and feel some echo of relief.


I want to make some changes to this poem, but I decided to post it in its most "raw" form.

Peace, Willow