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matchbox heart
by Indigo TempestaI breathed in, flush-faced, ginger-toed, before each weeded
ditch and tufted mound, praying to keep safe from snake
and badger and mole-hole our matchstick
tentative legs
as we parted the meadow. Your
soft susurrus plumed as lamb's wool
through a crescent of open mouth while I
cradled our clasped fingers to the small
of my back: a tincture
of closeness and warmth. On an arbitrary
hilltop I folded to the wet grass. You followed:
four clutched knees under the Pleiades
at midnight. We watched as the young moon
crawled across the sky; then you
were crying. Jagged breaths
crossed the threshhold of your lips: sighs
now hard as icicles. I was praying,
praying. Praying to keep safe your matchbox
heart.
My fingers
plucked your orphan hand from your lap;
your lunar skin tremored and wept
in my uncertain grasp. So much silence became vacuum
in the heatless air. Then like a soldier
who has seen too much, I laid down my arms:
and became a tear-drinker;
thawed your breath
with my chapped
lips and tried
to swallow your tears. 07/09/2004 Author's Note: thanks to philip, for the title. and to alice, for the truth that is sometimes hiding.
Posted on 07/09/2004
Copyright © 2025 Indigo Tempesta
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Rula Shin on 07/09/04 at 08:04 PM Wow. I like it very much, and most especially the line, "Then like a soldier who has seen too much, I laid down my arms." A beautiful play on words. This scene is so vivid, full of color and dimension for the mind's eye to feast upon, "flush-faced, ginger-toed...soft susurrus plumed as lamb's wool through a crescent of open mouth" - the alliteration throughout is so subtle and well placed. There is also another depth to the scene, layers of emotion and sensitivity to feast one's heart upon as well, "I
cradled our clasped fingers to the small
of my back...I was praying...to keep safe your matchbox heart" - this reveals the vulnerability of one subject, and the tenderness and compassion of the other. Then again the imagery is so bold and crisp, sewn into the scene's sad, thoughtful, and desperately loving tone quite seamlessly, "My fingers plucked your orphan hand from your lap; your lunar skin tremored and wept". This whole piece has an aura about it that lingers in the afterthoughts as a whole scene in tact though not even close to an end, this relationship continues and blossoms from here...there is a distinct sense of peace and calm come the end despite the helplessness and desparation of trying to heal the wounds of a loved one, "thawed your breath with my chapped lips and tried to swallow your tears" - there is both pain and salvation in this poem of yours...the relationship blossoms right before our eyes, there is a growing sense of closeness with each line...I find it quite pleasing to read aloud as well. Great job! :-)
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| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 07/23/04 at 11:46 AM I too found your use of language most intrigueing and quite in keeping with my love of metaphor and as you are seeking critique would only say, that within your lovely poem I found the perfect title-------Matchbox Heart |
| Posted by David Hill on 02/17/05 at 01:47 AM tender, delicate, and moving. fine phrases in each stanza. never sappy. |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 10/21/14 at 12:47 PM simply gorgeous writing. congratulations on POTD. |
| Posted by Elizabeth Shaw on 10/21/14 at 03:50 PM Very beautiful with instinctive nature |
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