Daliesque

[heslopian]

I really enjoyed this poem. The first half contrasts with the second very well; the first full of violence and horror, the second with a slight undertone of menace, but on the whole bathed in light and normality, the reintegration after the warped reality of what came before. The first half is my favourite just because of how well it disturbs our sense of reality in such a clean, crisp, imagistic way, never once tripping itself up grammatically or really hitting a wrong note. My one qualm with that first half would be the last line of the second stanza, which feels a bit overkill and tell-not-show, but it's not a major thing.

If I was to crawl out on a limb and hazard a guess at a meaning here, it would be that the poem is a metaphor for (or diatribe against, perhaps) the life of the domestic goddess, the housewife, or whatever you'd call it. She drives herself insane to achieve perfection while receiving little gratitude in return from those she serves.

Whatever the meaning, this was a neat poem, and the title surmises its surrealistic approach nicely. Thank you for the read

Daliesque
 
I.
The knife is longer
than the whole damn street
and there is tiny you
small as ginger root
on the cutting board
in My kitchen.
 
My pale Queen Kong hand
can barely fit through the door.
I want to chop you up, but I can’t
get the friggin knife in the house past the handle;
the clock is bubbling on the stove.
Vapor screams anguish like a raging teapot
of the thousand times I died for you.
 
Then I know what to do.
 
II.
…The soup was delicious, everyone said so
as they dipped their spoons into the swimming pool
where sorrow, hate, and evil drowned
and I could smile again when silver reflected the
sun and it looked like love.
I could finally throw out the oiled saddle rippling into sand;
Free free free
from your chewy gristle never
to be ridden again.

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So I am doing a project.  Basically I am in love with the dictionary and I go through and find a word.  This is a dictionary piece.