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an arid, receding language
by Marina DawnAnd your mouth
broken, like the mouth of a goldfish
as I listen.
It's not, you
see, that I didn't listen
to what I heard.
The sound of the wind, sunlight sieved
and released in the distance, but where
was your voice in all of this
rushing life--stones--carrion
unmoved in the tidal pools--then morning
dissolved, a tender bruise
of every thing almost--in an instant
almost a gesture, having almost begun.
The flint jaw, the teeth and tongue
the pieces the pieces intact
but the voice. Like finding
despite the sense of rain, thunder
only stagnant puddles. No proof.
And now my brain has shattered. Opened. No song
or light remains inside. This wind, though
this wind was not the sound I meant to hear.
08/05/2005 Posted on 08/05/2005
Copyright © 2025 Marina Dawn
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Sarah Graves on 08/06/05 at 01:40 AM An intense journey, you have given the reader. I really felt this, all the way to the last line. Exceptional work. |
| Posted by Jared Fladeland on 07/03/06 at 05:32 PM There is a beat to this. i can't necessarily describe it in words. The accents are all offbeat and syncopated in a way that it feels like each like shoves you against one wall, then then the next shoves you against another wall. It's almost as if the poem is a person fighting against a hug, trying desperately to escape the clutches of someone who either pretends to love them, or honestly does love them and the person escaping refuses to believe. Maybe I completely missed the message, or at least your intention of, but the rhythm of it, as I read it, tells me this. |
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