At Dusk

About the Book

I. AT DUSK, Marie Reilly’s fourth collection of poems, explores a late-life paradox: newly-creative and refreshing days tested by the presence of looming mortality. II. “Falling” forms the basis of the first segment. Falling Night falls Leaves fall An ax falls Hearts drop Words fall from lips The temperature falls As does the barometer Some words fall on deaf ears Icarus fell from a great height So too Lucifer, and Oedipus The fate of a nation rises and falls Milk spills You might have a falling out Or you might instead fall into step Sometimes I trip But I rarely fall Except of course to fall in love *** In “Ode to a Long-Sleeve T-Shirt,” the author responds to dismaying change in physical appearance. Ode to a Long-Sleeve T-Shirt Unwrinkled blue, a bit tight The skin of an overripe grape Threatening to trip my fingers Hiding the pair of bangles from a shop in Montecito Cuffed, spotted in drops of decaf with half-and-half Long, pulled down over my girth From top to its bottom, it offers a cover of synthetic blue A blue once the color of my now-faded eyes Oh T-shirt most fitting, you comfort me! *** “Direction” addresses the continuing opportunity for potent life. Direction Turn a blind eye and it’s compass-clear. Northeast, southwest, accidental byways— At a crossroads, the view tells the way. You will know a true direction. Though gray and rainy the day may at the moment be, Preliminaries soon break through, beginnings anew. The wrist freed from a watch tells the luxury of time. A cheerful guitar draws near from Mexico afar. —Go!—Claim the right of way to the not-so-distant café; Even on a hazy day savor your choices. *** In “Seed Rattle,” the poet praises the phenomenon of collaborative creative play. Seed Rattle The seed rattle invites us to a loosening. Sprinklings of water, seeds sown in four directions, lure us to hypnotic state. Thoughts attend to the mysterious place of being with some and being but one. The humming of the several intensifies the unfixing effects, even as it begets them. The light shawl of fatigue slips from my shoulders. Song defines the room’s core. A sound-making circle of ten becomes the world. The walls have only to hold up, hold back, the dark skies. We travel now on the power of words flung throughout a newly-construed realm of ten, the clouds, and the stars. *** She dares to proclaim her renewed vow to seek creative challenge. Ode to a Pair of Sandals Tan, suede, scuffed Comfortable as well-worn boots Creased by size 8½ feet Like house slippers but better More supportive of one Who means to leave home for the day In tandem The pair dares to correct The fall of her step Old, at home on her feet, They wander to the desert’s edge To stop at a band of prickly pear. At the rim of the arroyo, they startle then skip Like hummingbirds taking flight, And dance in delight at the rainbowed sight *** III. As in Marie Reilly’s three previous collections, each poem in AT DUSK—there are 46 in all—sits on the page to be enjoyed in and of itself. But the poet presents an additional way to read the book. A blank page accompanies each poem where the reader may enter a response, creative or critical. The invitation to record one’s thoughts—immediately, or in retrospect, or upon later readings—creates a special way to engage with poetry. It acknowledges the reader’s uniqueness and need to express a response. The reader responds in private, and her responses may be seeds for her own creative work. The reader may also respond on the AT DUSK page at the Xlibris website, www.xlibris.com and, in turn, can expect response from the poet.

About the Author

Retired to New Mexico from New York City, Marie Reilly finds creative engagement and intellectual renewal. Southwest vistas and newfound powers of the pen lead her along a philosophical path that delights the senses. A thunderstorm or a common fly serves to sharpen an understanding of what it means to be alive. In this collection, the human eye and soul witness the grandeur of turbulence in the world. Dr. Reilly lives in Las Cruces with Donald Busch and their cat, Abby.