no matter which way

no matter which way
i look at it, there is
a crease consistent
with the weight of your
memory

in each new memory –

i am stepping off
the train, and the
platform curls,
losing its grip
on me.

i am opening my
mouth to speak,
and the sentence
dog-ears, and i
am undone.

i am looking
at the sky, and the sky
is rolling up its
corners, already finished
with me
.
20100330:2131
y

2 comments

  1. marlowe44

    Getting toward the end of your lexicon of grief, and then you will be “free” to write about everything else in the universe, from cocoanuts to the cosmos. Your poems have ALL been excellent, or course some of them hit harder emotionally for we readers than others; which is the nature of the species. This poem is terrific, because it combines the surreal with the actual, suggesting that prolonged grief could perceptually put someone into a Salvador Dali kind of mindframe. /the platform curls/losing its grip/on me/ gives me vertigo, filling the very air of our imagination with electronic music; chords, notes, tones we have never heard before in this world, yet still familiar to that part of the entity’s memory we sling over our astral shoulder–bizarre sounds, atonal, yet we almost can remember the words…./and the sentence/dog ear, and i/am undone/ brings moisture to my tear ducts, for I worship the ability to articulate pain, joy, and bunions, and to sense the numbness spread in your chest, to feel the chill, the ersatz almost verbal catatonia is frightening, maddening, irrational, even irritating. /and the sky/is rolling up its/corners, already finished/with me/ leaves you no refuge, no sanctuary from the naked gaze of grief that you have, and must endure. You make me want to travel to NYC and hug you, to give you comfort.

  2. y

    thank you. if you read deeply into the archives, you may find those you speak of, “from coconuts to the cosmos” (smile). thank you, again, for you wonderful words and for reading.

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