03-24-2017, 11:05 AM
Somewhere an Alaskan Mountain
I dig when you bring up
that affair with the therapist.
I dig into permafrosted heart,
gouge out my wandering lie.
It digs not because of the lack
of trust, or the insult thrust
like a sippy cup at the back
of Mommy’s indiscretion.
It digs up dead soil full of
fossilized worms. The clangs
of its pick at each dark depth
turn old stones new with time.
Fallow fields make feeble harvest,
but I plow and I plant. You pick
at the scabs, ruby and topaz
tombstones for grave wounds.
I still dig that poem you wrote
but this silence is not golden.
Our promises did not harden
into diamonds under the snow.
-------------------
Hi!
Just a heads up, this is my first post for critique on this forum, and I may be slow to respond while I'm getting my bearings.
This poem was shopped in a college poetry course which has devolved into a G-rated circle jerk, so here I am.
Please be brutal. I appreciate honest and frank criticism.
Thanks,
EGR
I dig when you bring up
that affair with the therapist.
I dig into permafrosted heart,
gouge out my wandering lie.
It digs not because of the lack
of trust, or the insult thrust
like a sippy cup at the back
of Mommy’s indiscretion.
It digs up dead soil full of
fossilized worms. The clangs
of its pick at each dark depth
turn old stones new with time.
Fallow fields make feeble harvest,
but I plow and I plant. You pick
at the scabs, ruby and topaz
tombstones for grave wounds.
I still dig that poem you wrote
but this silence is not golden.
Our promises did not harden
into diamonds under the snow.
-------------------
Hi!
Just a heads up, this is my first post for critique on this forum, and I may be slow to respond while I'm getting my bearings.
This poem was shopped in a college poetry course which has devolved into a G-rated circle jerk, so here I am.
Please be brutal. I appreciate honest and frank criticism.
Thanks,
EGR