What would my dead mother say,
knowing I still mourn you--
you, the same one who tore
my flesh open, leaving dank
blood trails for the squirrels
to track through, come morning.
What would my father say
from her side, worms
lifting their heads listening,
if I told him you still sing
in my dreams, barefoot
and sprawled at my bathroom door,
suds bubbling over the hole
that once held my heart,
that same heart that danced
Rumbas whenever your
hand brushed my cheek.
Pris Campbell
(this is posted on my blog, as well)
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5 comments:
Hi birthday girl!
A beautiful and tragic poem. Nicely done.
Thanks, birdie
Appreciate your stopping to comment.
and I enjoyed your song on my bday:-)
On first read, I wanted to know detail - who what why!? But I keep coming back to this, and really, the details are immaterial to the reader, you make what matters very clear - the emotion, the mood.
This piece so effectively conveys a sense of loneliness, regret, longing. It's really just beautiful Pris. It isn't one I could read and forget, I just keep coming back to it, and it lingers with me when I've gone away from it.
I also have to mention that I love the way you've enjambed the first 2 lines of S2 - great dual meaning there.
Thanks, Erin
Sometimes I'll post the source feelings for my poems, or make them clearer within the poem. Other times I like to let the reader bring in his/her own old yearnings.
I appreciate.
Pris
you know, on the whole, I much prefer NOT to have a poem explained - I really think part of a poem is the writer's ability to lend it to the reader, let them apply it to themselves somehow. Once it's explained, that's rarely possible. (in other words, Shhh! Don't tell me!)
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