"resealing" poems
another postcard came,
sent from the hollowman.
bright, happy pictures
on the front.
and terse, inked messages
on the back.
"am ok" or "doin fine"
"still here"
& "i am living my life"
anger and grief,
etched in each
& every penstroke.
he, rings ben,
& they talk,
like lovers , in hushed
& secretive tones,
for long periods of time.
but he won't speak to me.
ben says,
he says, it is still .....
too hard, to fresh & raw
....and i remind him,
to much of her...
(she has a name,
i say angrily)
but, really,
i don't know,
what to do with that.....
any more than i know
what to do with.....
the boxes, stacked,
in our garage.
your bequest to me,
the residue of your life.
each time i open
one to unpack.....
i add,
a cupful of salty tears,
before resealing it....
god!
it might be years,
before i get them done.
and i know,
this is not so much,
about his all encompassing grief,
or the tidal heft of mine.
as much,
as it is about,
my need to make,
things, better and smooth and fine.
you,
in your much missed
wisdom,
once said,
"we are the sisters sisyphus'.
me, i am wanting to be,
glue,
always, holding things together,
often, way past, their prime.
and you,
you, want to take,
a jagged pebble
and work and polish it,
till smooth as a marble...
but really,
both these things,
are tasks never done....
and in the end,
the world has it's way..... things, lives,
come apart and shatter
and we are left,
to begin again, again....
so, sue for you
and in your memory...
to laz,the hollowman
i give his mispent anger
and recieve his postcards
and hope that time will heal.
as to, the gift of your boxes.
i seed my salted love...
they will be there,
when i am ready
and the tide is right.
and i let the world have
it's way...
in hope you are smiling down from above....
and i think you are...
this weeks message,
"got a dog"
Jul 16, 2014
Jul 16, 2014 at 8:14 PM UTC
Every person has a vile enemy to overcome,
It may be a person, or even a book to some.
But for myself, alas, it is but a feeling,
Of the tearing of one's heart as well as its' resealing.
I strive to love, yet not to yield,
I dive in headstrong, but not without a shield.
A sword in my hand, pointed to thee,
But unknowingly, an arrow flies towards me.
It hits its' mark, strong and true,
And I fall, weakened, and clouds wave as I pass through.
Blinded now, I reach for thy hand,
A chuckle is heard, and my fist closes around sand.
Sly is the tactic thou hast used to elude me once more,
But I, a damsel, remained oblivious as the seams of my heart were torn.
I continue to fall, but then I reached the end,
And I could only wish that I had resumed falling again.
The bottom had been sharp, and it pierced me through,
My eyes, my chest... and oh, the screams it had ensued!
Never before had I experienced such agony,
I suppose then, that this is why love was- no, is a tragedy.
As my eyelids flutter close, tears escaped them one last time,
I lay impaled, love's greatest tragedy's prime.
I had known that this was the end of my conquest of love,
And I wished that no one would take this path for it was severely undeserved.
Nov 5, 2015
Nov 5, 2015 at 1:22 PM UTC