v3. Disembodied

[wasellajam]

Hi, I’m coming at this not reviewing previous versions or crit. The first two stanzas are sound for me, a ghostly start with lots to like. S3 seems way off, not in what it’s saying but how it goes about it. Some notes:

Disembodied


Years of distance gathered like a fog
in collapsed houses. The warmth in voices
retreated to their silhouettes. Everything
remembered in retreating warmth
was offered to the night in fevered words
by my withered body. I hear its words,
but matter only passes through my touch;
I can no longer tell my body what it did not dream.
"fog in collapsed houses" is a little hard to get a hold of but I got there. I love the next sentence. "Everything ...warmth" is repetitive but if you've been thinking about that and want it I can live with it. I like fevered/withered, but not a fan of the double "words" breaks. I think you might cut "I hear its words, but" without any loss.

My throat-tight bid for reconnection
with my sister, in the backseat
of a rental, going through the mountains
of papa’s country in the evening,
never happened. But my gaze welled
with apology in a strange new silence, a gaze
turned upon those mountains to avoid
spoiling the time that she still managed
to share with me. I see that is why I linger.

Loneliness drove me searching for its remedy
at first in strangers. I wanted intimacy,
never mind if any search
objectifies all beings in its path.
Then my own aunt, whom I grew up with,
fell in that path. After spending the night
on the beach, thinking of walking forever
into the waves, I sent her words that reeked
of lechery, rewrote her perception of me,
how she thought I perceived her
when we visited my sister in the UK with my lola,
when we played soccer in the street with cousins,
when we all walked for boba after rain.
Then my distance grew throughout the years,
until everything and everyone
that caught the sun became the stars
and the coldness in between.
"I wanted intimacy,
never mind if any search
objectifies all beings in its path." just explains the line before it, you might alter L1 to objectified strangers (something better than that, please }and lose the explanation.
"Then my own aunt, whom I grew up with,
fell in that path" just explains the line after it, I think you could cut it and add aunt as "I sent my own aunt words...". I think you could lose "when we visited my sister in the UK with my lola,". Strong ending.

So, I think this is a strong, interesting piece that hasn't reached what it could be yet. Keep at it, thanks for posting.

v2.


Disembodied


Years of distance gathered like a fog
in collapsing houses. The warmth in voices
retreated to their silhouettes.
Everything that memory held
in retreating warmth was offered
to the stars like fevered vespers—
a raving barely understood
and still wanting to be understood
by those as present as the full earth
from the moon. And now that the sublunary
cannot be touched, it is clear what was
and was not dreamed.

My throat-tight bid for reconnection
with my sister, in the backseat
of a rental, going through the mountains
of papa’s motherland at sunset,
never happened. But there were gazes
burning with apology in new silences,
that were turned upon the mountains to avoid
spoiling the time we still created, gazes
that explain this lingering.
She only felt my distance
growing through the years, until I
was helpless as a newborn
and everything and everyone that caught the sun
became the stars
and the coldness in between.



v1. 

In-Between


Years of distance gathered like a fog
in collapsing houses. The warmth in voices
retreated to their silhouettes.
Everything the temporal held
in retreating warmth
was offered to the stars
like desperate vespers—
prayers that were never meant
for the understanding of those as present
as the full earth from the moon,
while relayed visions burned for understanding.
Now that I'm too far away, no longer able
to touch the sublunary, it is clear what was
and was not dreamt.

My throat-tight bidding for a reconnection
with my sister, in the backseat
of a rental, going through the mountains
of papa’s motherland at sunset,
never happened. But there were stoic variations
of my bidding, familiar to those mountains,
which explain this lingering.
She only saw me growing more
distant through the years
until I was helpless as a newborn
and everything and everyone that caught sunlight
became the stars
and the coldness in between.