Maceration [revision 1]

[billy]

some good images, some great lines, all the time i was wondering who the you was. at the the i'm thinking it's the house but on re reads i think it isn't i would have liked just smidgen more info to help tie it all together, i think you have a really good poem here that's a little too well hidden as of yet. it seems to evolve over a rather long period of time, how long for mangrove to grow? for now i'm asking a lot of questions of the poem. not too bad a thing but i'd like to asking less.

thanks for the read and great to see you posting one of your own

As I slept, your rivulets redecorated.
Trickling from the tub, i keep coming back to this line, is there a suicide, was the water left on
they invited lichen to the kitchen, again i keep returning, why (not in a bad way but in a way that makes me try and make the story up. do you live in the swamps, are you Cajun/Australian. i'm looking for a marker i can see clearly,
replaced our flowered wallpaper with moss.
I awoke to waterfalls
where I remembered stairs. these two lines create a great image, it feels as though the sleep was very very very long, was it a coma?

After they fished you from the brimming bath, so it seems like it was suicide
Mother flung the house open and mopped
until evening throbbed with frogsong. feels forced though again it has a feel of swamp.
Still the flood would not subside.

For months our meals were spiced
with the tang of rotting timber.
But we clung on,
shelved you well above the water line i'd like to know the who, the maceration, the dead body?
and traded in our thongs for waders. thongs ? females?
Men arrived to try to drain the mire,
though alligators made the work impossible. not austrailian then , not even sure why i mentioned auz

Eventually, the mangrove grew def swamp
too tangled to cut a path.
In Autumn, the last of the walls falling away,
we abandoned the land to the herons,
scattering you among the cattails
that consumed the wreckage. the you is the house.