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02 April 2013

holding onto the romance of death (or the sentimental margins of loss)

and the moss didn't move
just like the honeysuckle
didn't seem to care
you
beneath the earth
between azaleas and daffodils
every finger
and thumb
covered in dirt
in the blood of dirt
as if the garden had skin
and I had peeled it raw
and ragged
you and
the dust of you
one slow slim lick
of the wound

6 comments:

poetry-diary.com said...

I like the poem, but am still reflecting on the relationship between the poem and it's title....although the longer I reflect the more romanticism comes through...(not sure though!).

Rachel Hoyt said...

Very interesting poem. It is as if she/he is happy as long as she/he stays in mourning. Great write! :)

Here's the poem I shared at dVerse Poets Pub this week.

HisFireFly said...

love this
"as if the garden had skin
and I had peeled it raw
and ragged"
as we wait for the blanket of snow to release our land for planting

zongrik said...

"the dust of you" is a very sensual; expression

Where is the Food when mother is not?

zongrik said...

even when it's windy, the moss doesn't move.

Where is the Food when mother is not?

Arron Shilling said...

and ragged
you and
the dust of you
one slow slim lick
of the wound

made
me shiver

everything about this
title right thru
is super smart
and V.cool