Can you imagine?
Do you see?
I stand before a gaping hole.
I've done my best to fill it in but you come along and dig.
I fill it with stones pulled from my heart.
I grow them there.
I grow them in my heart.
There is no part of me that has not wished you in this hole to lie and rot with your good wishes.
If I allowed pebbles to fall
from my fingers,
rather than tears from my eyes-
would the space between fill sooner?
Soon seems unattainable.
I wonder if it can be filled at all.
The volume is so great today and
yesterday was forgotten.
How quickly these reminders come,
and how unwelcome.
I should place your shovel in the hole to stop you from digging.
In my wildest dream, my hands are dirt-black and my nails are torn from the effort of burying us - of burying what we were.
Exhausted, my clothes are rags and I sleep on the ground.
Exhausted, I sleep.
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Compared to your other works on this page, its a little raw. But then given the way it came to you, thats what you might expect?
ReplyDeleteScott
I like it -- the rawness seems to suit it.
ReplyDeleteI'd never dare call myself a poet, but i do know that the pieces that seem to speak most to my readers are the ones i usually think no one but me will ever understand... something about the universality of pain, i think... and about the universal need to find some way to give it voice
Stephanie
(CatGem)
Thank you for your comments. I appreciate them.
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