The world rushed away from you and
you felt giddy behind the car’s grey glass
The nerves behind your ochre eyes ticked
with nausea and your mouth
hung open in wet wonder.
Quiet white door and
gold knocker swung open,
the house filling with your warm coils,
as you clicked across the hardwood.
I had perhaps never seen anything
so beautiful as you—
standing pale in the baby’s breath,
your feet leaving four bruises
where you had been.
Sunset tipped the fulcrum toward evil,
raising hysteria to unspring in your limbs and
buzz about the ridges of your ribs through skin.
No sibling lungs to lull you:
the clock’s tick was a mournful whine.
Terror, we were a flight away.
Night’s dice upended, the television blaring
blue. You ricocheted to a hoarse
and bloody morning.
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ReplyDeleteYour poems are gorgeous.You certainly have a talent for stringing beautiful words together and creating these lovely images, but here is one criticism and it's not small. I always feel like your poems have too much. There are too many things, too many images, too many feelings happening all in one little space. It's overwhelming. In a way your lines are like saturated fats; they add up to too much becoming "ostentatious" and "gaudy." I don't know. I feel like your lines are rich and if you can expand a bit more without more images, it becomes less distracting. More lingering is needed. That's my two-cents.
ReplyDeleteMara, thank you so much for your comment. Hahah I by no means know what I am doing. I am in Ms. Steele's poetry class this semester and I am looking forward to getting better.
ReplyDeleteI think that is very valid criticism. And it means a lot coming from you. I will seriously consider. I think my mind is exploding; thanks for picking through the shrapnel.
Oh, that woman is good.
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