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generation exodus
by Laura Doomhave You come to take my measurements?
don't look at my feet they shrank when The Tall People came to wash them.
did you hear that? it's always behind me
like the leatherjacket He's 6 feet 9
hangs on my wall where the door used to be
He comes between chocolate and toast
why does He want me to stop
breathing?
feeding
feeding
feeding me baby smiles and old shadows
please don't go They'll come before i've made my layers
have another toffee, i'll get up again talk to the warm cupboard.
are They still moving outside? that one's a fish
it smells like a fish a fish in handcuffs
maybe it's a pig i can see its tail waving
there's water coming through the floor am i leaking?
The Dresses are even bigger, but They only see the gravy
They can't swim under water
The Orange Man just put something through my mouth
is it Yours? i don't want to die not when They're here in the pipes
are You going to draw the curtains?
what are You doing in my kettle?
something's not right They don't care about my hands
Your fingers are too clean
i want to go now, where You made the other face
take my chimes You won't let them in, will You?
no, don't
promise?
fold your wings, and I'll sit in the cage... 11/28/2010 Posted on 11/28/2010
Copyright © 2024 Laura Doom
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 11/28/10 at 02:43 PM Some good madness to be found throughout. Nice work. |
| Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 11/29/10 at 04:01 PM With the title, I relate this to my parent's generation who are starting to drop like flies, and with that can hear much of the confusion in this that comes with that progressive going. One can only hope for a gentle madness. |
| Posted by Jim Benz on 11/30/10 at 10:30 PM There seems to be contrasting elements woven together in this poem. The predominant image I get is the perspective of a young girl - references to "the tall people," "baby smiles," "am I leaking" and the dresses on which "They" apparently see only gravy stains. There's also the allusion to imaginative cloud gazing, but its through a window, and the door has been replaced by a [very] tall person - in leather no less. So, another strong element is the cage, and it gets more claustrophobic and ominous toward the end, with the Orange man and all. I don't entirely know what to make of the poem in terms of meaning - it sounds like a dream, or a dreamlike memory of something not at all gentle or pleasing. But overall? I think this is a terrific poem - even if it makes my skin crawl with an uncanny sense of imposition and control. [I know this is quite a bit different than Kristina's reading, but so it goes ...] |
| Posted by Paul Lastovica on 12/03/10 at 11:06 PM a dream. a terrible vision. memories on the come-back trail. whatever it is, i like all the uncomfortable wedges it puts in my brain, all the stuff that gets in my way of a proper understanding. Maybe none of that matters; in that case i enjoy these words all the same. I too relate it back to childhood - the strangeness of everything, and the fascination that comes with that strangeness. |
| Posted by Ulyss Rubey on 12/04/10 at 02:28 AM "There is no great genius without a tincture of madness."
Seneca |
| Posted by Clara Mae Gregory on 12/07/10 at 01:33 AM ...this is a glaring glimpse of sanity dipping into dimentia....futile flight...so fold |
| Posted by Susan Q Tomas on 01/30/11 at 01:23 AM Dang girl. You are still my favorite poet. You are awesome. I get some of this.... I am a hospice volunteer. |
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