Dry soil, dust lifting, and underneath it a floating wound
a mystery, or a forgotten belonging:
how you could run so fast but never get very far
is a relic of the truth, a tragedy
far removed from the prime of your life
yet still fully formed in its image.
With growing unease
I stare at the edges of your photograph
and think of what you were,
what might have survived you: heat, water, bone,
a favorite lipstick. Your fear of the light.
The hunter-gatherer comes to the end of his route
standing before the gorge
twin oceans of prairie grass and diamond sky
in place of the yellow-and-grey canyons of his youth.
Looking for the warp over the scar
the yolk on your fingers, a twin without twin,
peer without peer: what did you realize
when you saw land?
I imagine you holding me
nursing by the small window,
condensation tracking down the water glass
and breast milk drying on your skin,
the ants in my ear humming a strange lullaby.
An odd tableau
for someone more used to surviving than giving -
in stillness, stars could burn you, but metal couldn't cut you
and time never altered you.
Having been made in your image
I find myself unable to turn the page.
Springtime has arrived in Texas
and with it, the beginning of a new life; a new happiness
over the same sadness. White blossoms
cupping your smile,
the baby. Sunlight streaming in softly over your head
and the asphalt under your feet warming, a warning.
Entropy studies me the way I study
you.
**
1st edit (thank you for the feedback!) :
How you could run so fast but never get very far
is a mystery, a tragedy
far removed from the prime of your life
yet still fully formed in its image.
With growing unease
I stare at the fading edges of your photograph
and think of what you were,
what might have survived you: heat, water, bone,
a favorite lipstick. Your fear of the light.
Standing before the gorge, the hunter-gatherer
come to the end of his route, he finds
the yellow canyons of his youth long exchanged
for an ocean of flat prairie grass.
Looking for the warp over the scar,
the yolk on your fingers, a twin without twin:
what did you realize
when you saw in yourself an open wound?
I imagine you
nursing by the small window,
condensation tracking down the water glass
and breast milk drying on your skin,
the ants in my ear humming a strange lullaby.
I used to listen to you sleep, sometimes, through the door -
you were almost always quiet. Rise and fall.
In stillness, I think stars could burn you
but metal couldn't cut you. Fabric couldn't touch you.
I slide the picture back into its cover
but am unable to flip the page.
Springtime has arrived in Texas: white blossoms cupping your smile,
the baby. Sunlight streaming in softly
over your head, and the asphalt under your feet
warming, a warning.
Entropy studies me the way I study
you.
Original version:
Dry soil, dust lifting, and underneath it
a floating wound or flaxen youngness...
how you could run so fast but never get very far
is a mystery of its own.
A tragedy far removed from your prime
yet still fully formed in its image.
With growing unease
I stare at the fading edges of your photograph
and I think of what you were,
what survived you: heat, water, bone,
your fear of the light, a favorite lipstick, maybe.
Standing at the gorge, the hunter-gatherer
come to the end of his route,
he finds the yellow canyons of his youth exchanged
for flat prairie. Looking for the warp over the scar,
the yolk on your fingers, a twin without twin:
what did you realize
when you did? Nursing by the small window,
condensation tracking down the water glass
and breast milk drying on your skin,
the ants in my ear humming a strange lullaby;
in stillness, stars could burn you
but metal couldn't cut you. Springtime
in Texas: white blossoms cupping your smile,
the baby. Sun
over your head, and the asphalt under your feet
warming, a warning.
Entropy studies me the way I study
you.
Dry soil, dust lifting, and underneath it
a floating wound or flaxen youngness... needs something other than "youngness"....awkward phrase as it stands
how you could run so fast but never get very far
is a mystery of its own.
A tragedy far removed from your prime
yet still fully formed in its image.
With growing unease
I stare at the fading edges of your photograph
and I think of what you were,
what survived you: heat, water, bone,
your fear of the light, a favorite lipstick, maybe.
Standing at the gorge, the hunter-gatherer
come to the end of his route,
he finds the yellow canyons of his youth exchanged
for flat prairie. Looking for the warp over the scar,
the yolk on your fingers, a twin without twin:
what did you realize
when you did?
Nursing by the small window,
condensation tracking down the water glass
and breast milk drying on your skin,
the ants in my ear humming a strange lullaby;
in stillness, stars could burn you
but metal couldn't cut you.
Springtime in Texas:
white blossoms cupping your smile, the baby. Sun this line seems orphaned....too disconnected.....whose baby? I assume yours, so why not say "my baby"
over your head, and the asphalt under your feet
warming, a warning.
Entropy studies me the way I study
you.
This is a very interesting poem with a unique voice. Fabulous last line! The connections from stanza to stanza (as I broke it up with line breaks, which I think would aid the reader) are elusive but not in a damaging way. Altogether a pleasure to read.
I agree with all TqB said, including the line/stanza breaks. There's a lot to like here, though it needs some structure. Maybe a bit more clarity of the theme would help too. I thought it was about a distant planet at first, then it seemed to veer away from that.
Some highlights for me:
a floating wound
A tragedy far removed from your prime
yet still fully formed
Looking for the warp over the scar,
the yolk on your fingers, a twin without twin:
what did you realize
(01-01-2023, 12:25 AM)s3 Wrote: 1st edit (thank you for the feedback!) :
I miss your original opening lines
How you could run so fast but never get very far
is a mystery, a tragedy
far removed from the prime of your life
yet still fully formed in its image. this line baffles me a bit
With growing unease
I stare at the fading edges of your photograph
and think of what you were,
what might have survived you: heat, water, bone,
a favorite lipstick. Your fear of the light.
Standing before the gorge, the hunter-gatherer come to the end of his route, he findscomes to the yellow canyons of his youth long exchanged inserted "to"
for an ocean of flat prairie grass. the transition from the hunter imagery and the next four lines needs work. the jump from a third person narrative to lines addressing "you" and "your" is confusing.
Looking for the warp over the scar,
the yolk on your fingers, a twin without twin:
what did you realize
when you saw in yourself an open wound?
I imagine you
nursing by the small window,
condensation tracking down the water glass
and breast milk drying on your skin,
the ants in my ear humming a strange lullaby. love this line almost as much as the last line
I used to listen to you sleep, sometimes, through the door - listened
you were almost always quiet. Rise and fall.
In stillness, I think stars could burn you
but metal couldn't cut you. Fabric couldn't touch you.
I slide the picture back into its cover
but am unable to flip the page.
Springtime has arrived in Texas: / white blossoms cupping your smile, maybe a line break here the baby. Sunlight streaming in softly move over your head to this line
over your head, and the asphalt under your feet and warming, a warning to this line
warming, a warning. Maybe a line break to let that brilliant last line stand out
Entropy studies me the way I study
you.
Thanks to Rowens for bumping this one back up the list. One of my favorite of recent posts.
made a second edit. can't seem to stop this from getting longer and longer. thanks for everyone who's given this a read
in particular TqB for all your comments, which clearly have been vastly helpful. to clarify on the line 'yet still fully formed in its image' - does it make more sense if you consider the narrator as the baby, and the 'you/your' subject as their mother? I tried to make this distinction more clear in my edit
thanks 71degrees as well, though I have decided to keep "very". I like the lack of specificity in this context. though that may be a questionable decision.
(02-07-2023, 03:05 AM)s3 Wrote: made a second edit. can't seem to stop this from getting longer and longer.
Cutting is the hardest thing to do, and it used to be that my revisions always got longer. Pig pen has helped me with that. Stick around, you will learn a lot.
to clarify on the line 'yet still fully formed in its image' - does it make more sense if you consider the narrator as the baby, and the 'you/your' subject as their mother? I tried to make this distinction more clear in my edit
absolutely! i thought that might be the case, but something was missing to make it clear, at least for me. It still is not crystal clear to me. I'm about to anotate where I might be missing something, along with just a few cuts. This is a strong poem, but it could be stronger.
(01-01-2023, 12:25 AM)s3 Wrote: 2nd edit:
Dry soil, dust lifting, and underneath it a floating wound a mystery, or a forgotten belonging: "a floating wound" is a mystery, so I think "a mystery" is redundant.
how you could run so fast but never get very far
is a relic of the truth, a tragedy
far removed from the prime of your life
yet still fully formed in its image. why "its" instead of "her"? that would instantly distinguish the who's who or am I confused already never mind, I get it now
With growing unease
I stare at the edges of your photograph
and think of what you were,
what might have survived you: heat, water, bone,
a favorite lipstick. Your fear of the light.
A hunter-gatherer comes to the end of his route I don't understand who is being talked about here? OK, never mind, I get it now. inserted "a" instead of "the"
standing before the gorge twin oceans of prairie grass and diamond sky
in place of the yellow-and-grey canyons of his youth.
Looking for the warp over the scar
the yolk on your fingers, a twin without twin,
peer without peer: what did you realize
when you saw land? this strange new land? this changed land?
I imagine you holding me
nursing by the small window,
condensation tracking down the water glass
and breast milk drying on your skin,
the ants in my ear humming a strange lullaby.
An odd tableau
for someone more used to surviving than giving -
in stillness, stars could burn you, but metal couldn't cut you
and time never altered you. Prefer original last line (fabric.....); time never altered.. .. is kind of overused already
Having been made in your image
I find myself unable to turn the page.
Springtime has arrived in Texas
and with it, the beginning of a new life; a new happiness think this also is redundant
over the same sadness. White blossoms
cupping your smile, your baby smile ? the baby. Sunlight streaming in softly over your head
and the asphalt under your feet warming, a warning.
Entropy studies me the way I study
you.
So I've tried to show some of my points of confusion. I'm still unsure who's being talked about as the poem proceeds. cancel this, I'm seeing it clearly now
I'm only one, easily confused reader. Hope some other people will add critiques. Thank you letting me continue to niggle.
TqB
______________________________________________________a few day later:
I reread this, and my comments, and the poem has become clearer, so I've adjusted the notes, added a couple of new ones.
Dry soil, dust lifting, and underneath it a floating wound
a mystery, or a forgotten belonging:
how you could run so fast but never get very far
is a relic of the truth, a tragedy
far removed from the prime of your life
yet still fully formed in its image.
With growing unease
I stare at the edges of your photograph
and think of what you were,
what might have survived you: heat, water, bone,
a favorite lipstick. Your fear of the light.
The hunter-gatherer comes to the end of his route
standing before the gorge
twin oceans of prairie grass and diamond sky
in place of the yellow-and-grey canyons of his youth.
Looking for the warp over the scar
the yolk on your fingers, a twin without twin,
peer without peer: what did you realize
when you saw land? I think you could do without this entire section. It just muddies things up, and detracts from the central characters, which for me are a mother, daughter, and baby (grand baby)
I imagine you holding me
nursing by the small window,
condensation tracking down the water glass
and breast milk drying on your skin,
the ants in my ear humming a strange lullaby. I think this line would work better in the next stanza An odd tableau
for someone more used to surviving than giving -
in stillness, stars could burn you, but metal couldn't cut you
and time never altered you. I think this section could be made more compact
Having been made in your image
I find myself unable to turn the page.
Springtime has arrived in Texas
and with it, the beginning of a new life; a new happiness
over the same sadness. White blossoms
cupping your smile, I'm really confused about whose smile this is- 'your' is just too general
the baby. Ants in my ear humming a strange lullaby.
Sunlight streaming in softly over your head
and the asphalt under your feet warming, a warning. whose head? and whose feet? the over-use of 'your' here is confusing, again
Entropy studies me the way I study
you. Sort of interesting, but the poem ends stronger for me at 'warning'.
I really like many of the elements in this piece and think you're getting closer. It's hard to know when a poem is asking too much of a reader- that tension can be good, yet it's a delicate balance.
