Your Hand I Remember(edit 2)

[Knot]

Hi bryn,

an improvement (I think) though a lot of the line breaks are looking rather artful, trying too hard. And I think the 'holding your hand' / 'remember your hand' sections are too close together.

Still not sure if it feels quite 'flitty' (?) enough.

The thicket dark

and brambled, memories

flitting branch to branch,

i

Lily of the valley blooming sweet

sprays of white bells ringing round

the hillside behind your house

on Martha Washington;

those stairs the height of Everest

we tumbled down and down again

playing octopus

with Grandpa always lit by his blazing

holiday fire; ............ Agree with TqB about the original (without the grasping/reaching what does 'to be caught' mean?) Also, still not seeing what the fire is adding to the 'memories of L'

the child’s thrill, wishing against

wishing to be caught.

ii

But never you

did I see so carefree, your song you sang

quietly from the small corners

in the background of memory, ....... I can't follow this (and it doesn't feel like a 'memory' more like a comment.) Also, I think it clashes with the 'formica table' section that follows. They don't appear to be the same memory.

iii ........ surely this is a separate memory?

I imagine

your Lauren Bacall gapped grin,

iv.

the curl of cigarette smoke

sitting at the pink Formica table

in the kitchen talking, just us two,

hanging on every missing word ...... favourite line

never

heard from you to know you. But

where was I other than lost

in the full-time job of just

being young. ............... Like the idea of this last section, but 'full-time job' - I get what you mean - seems at odds with 'just being young'. Selfishness?

It could’ve been the light

of early fall or the height

of summer not letting

on that time is short ............ think this works better as the end of this section, rather than the beginning of the next.

v. ........ too many hands here (but they can be combined)

in that bright hospice room

holding your hand

- delicate as bird bones,

spotted and thinned by years -

not knowing what else;

comforted by the quiet bustle

of nurses quick to smile.

They hustle tucking blankets

and tending pumps

and morphine drips

to the regular rhythm

of ragged breath;

wishing against wishing

each is your last.

caught among thorns,

what can I hope

to remember of you?

Best, Knot

.