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a child, broken
by Rachelle Howei have a fog for glasses.
oh, but they do the job.
their fickle hands are
prickled and stolen, they
ice my view and stain my reflection.
the weight of the world.
i feel it in my neck,
my spine, my shoulders.
i feel it from brains to bone.
i feel it in the depths of me,
those shallow pools you call
my experience and wisdom.
i could hand you
novels with no words,
just pictures, and still
you'd ask me what watercolors
i had been made of.
("oil," i say, and turn.)
the door creeks
of unwanted promises and
forgotten i-wish-you-would-have's.
you've been locked
in your own transition,
each microinstrument
singing those last cowboy songs:
"happy trails to you, until we meet again..."
(we won't.
your sunset has already come, and
i'm still standing on the corner,
buspass in hand.) 11/25/2003 Author's Note: and it does this, depression. it slips in beneath the door frame, those cracks that betray me one by one.
mainon, my darling, darling girl, for thee i chop and spin. ;)
Posted on 11/26/2003
Copyright © 2024 Rachelle Howe
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kristine Briese on 11/26/03 at 01:28 AM These are trails I know; buspass, glasses, and watercolors. These are worlds we may meet in. |
| Posted by Mainon A Schwartz on 11/26/03 at 02:56 AM oooh oooh. the first two lines fly straight into my marrow-- oh how they do the job. one thought, and certainly no demand, but i wonder what you'd think of taking out the third stanza. it's my least favorite, and its message is already there in the title, and oh-so-subtly AMAZING that i don't want it printed in words later on. i want the slow dawning consciousness that the rest of the poem gives me-- it breaks me, and oh how i love to be broken. mmmmm. |
| Posted by Max Bouillet on 11/26/03 at 06:09 PM Great verse that mixes regret and the feeling of loss with the knowledge that things change whether we want them to or not. Great images that make the soul a little darker in order for the shadow of melancholoy to feel more at home. |
| Posted by Lori Johnson on 11/26/03 at 06:59 PM last stanza, my favorite. :)
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| Posted by Lindsay Sanders on 11/26/03 at 09:28 PM whoa, i had to stop myself to comment after reading this for the 6th time. each time it hits me even harder. you are amazing rachelle! |
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