Falling in love has a way of
Superseding all other experience
It is a moment of enlightenment
Of uncomplicated bliss so instinctual
As to exist totally beyond the corruption
Of a necrotizing intellect.
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At some point Absinthe’s relationships
Always assumed addiction and identity
But it was less the object than the need for
A continuous source of warmth,
Sometimes she found it was easier
To attach herself to the inanimate
To the texture of a cozy familiarity
=
The veil had lifted, the period of
Mourning Sean had passed but not
Without consequence for she had
Not been, as able as he, to disguise
Heartache, she had said some things
Terrible things that he’d not dignified
With response, only a sort of helpless
Look and then later with a knee-jerk
Display of being preoccupied, which
Made her feel pathetic but likewise
Determined to find some hobby for
Herself, some diversion from the pain
That was not just another means of
Passive suicide or acquisitional vice
=
As a child she had collected buttons
She used them as the eyes for stuffed
Toys and her mother, as if in some
Desperate attempt to hold on, still
Sent her buttons in weekly letters
Gifts kept in their original envelops
Untouched and guarded fiercely
From the curious hearts of any
Lover who ever dared inquire
About her formative years
=
She still had the stuffed rabbit
Her mother made for her as a girl, it
Slept on her bed and sometimes next
To the trash when she was angered by
The expectations imposed by relationships,
Obligations she could neither met nor
Understand, sometimes knowing that there
Was a person who would not give up on her
Drove her crazy but she could never part
With “Luca” for he had been with her
During the happiest and the most tragic
Moments of her life, never judging, never
Expecting, as willing to be held as he
Was to absorb her tears and scorn
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She hadn’t sewn in years her hands were
Clumsy, years of self medication had stolen her
Grace and the first attempts resulted in the
Application of many Band-aids and a colony
Of lumpy, disfigured rabbits. One she sent
To her mother because she felt it as a
Representation of herself just as the flawless
One sitting on her bloodstained naked mattress
Was the representation of its creator, the others
She lined up beside the wall, execution-style
But she could not bring herself to erase them
=
With practice her hands begin to remember
The rhythm and her rabbit family grew each
An improvement and when she had made
Enough she sat them by the doors of every
Neighbor who had children, knowing well
The poverty of where she lived, these
Rabbits made of her own clothes, curtains,
Sheets whatever she could scrape together
Of her meager possessions, these rabbits
Whose eyes were especially precious
Were Christmas gifts, a means of reaching
Out beyond the walls of her isolated
Existence, she even made one for Sean
As an apology, his wore a black t-shirt
Emblazoned with a hematic “A”
=
She was in love, not with a man but with
A craft, with the act of creation which
Alleviated for the moment her sense of
Being useless, for once she was using
Her hands not to harm but to comfort
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As you guys know I am not in great condition at the moment I can only hope its not diminishing the quality my work too much or rendering it nonsensical
This is my submission for
mindlovemisery 