Danielle Bedard

My back is soft and boneless

Your shiv wrestles my flesh,

My furiously fluttering limbs

My mewling roseate lungs

Why won’t you do as I say?

Why can’t I do as I think?

Why do these stubby fingers

Betray so oft my confidence?


It was I who ate all the cookies!

It was I who cried the hardest

And I, who laughed the freest

I like xylophones and paper airplanes

Toy horses and rambling monologues

So long as I have composed them

I do not like to be cuddled

Or looked at too intently

I am self-contained like the miniatures

Harvested inside snow globes

I am a hermit, a soft freckled Buddha

Waiting for Mara’s veiled dance to cease

Waiting for my lotus-woven cape

To catch a harmonizing mistral

That I may return to the nether


This is another of my autobiographical poems this one is aged 3


If you’ve wondered why it’s taking me longer to get back to you it’s because I have been reorganizing and cleaning my apartment. Though my apartment is tiny we have enough for a house (we’d lived in a larger place before) and Sam has A LOT of hobbies so organizing is tantamount and also a major challenge since I have no idea what most of his stuff is. He has a lot of mysterious widgets lol I have 2 large drawers filled with seaweed?! I love seaweed but 2 drawers worth? Madness. It’s just madness. I have only the kitchen left provided Isadora doesn’t tear the rest of the apartment down in the meantime. I also went clothes shopping with Isadora today.


16 responses to “Netherland

  1. Glad you had a good day with Isadora. Seaweed? What’s with that? Another biting insight into your life, a sad piece. Sorry for not entering your prompts of late, by the time I get home now, I’m too tired to contribute. My writing has slowed down considerably unfortunately. ❤ x

    • Thyroid problems are heredity (runs in both sides of my family) and seaweed is excellent for the thyroid plus I like Japanese food haha Jenny your writing is extraordinary

  2. Fun to speak of fingers so, as if pegs to push with, clumsy. The laughter and the tears remind me of myself, passion full on. And then there is the world in miniature where safety lies, in the snow globe, which, like an expensive car, muffles sound, which like that car is not a womb. Mighty fine poem.

  3. A brilliant poem – contained like the miniatures within a snow globe – I resonate with that – within being the safe place we go when the outer world is harsh. When I read this poem is remembering age three I read it again and it read even better……….wonderful writing! Wow.

  4. This is really good Yves. Thought I’d share the imagery that came up when I read it. 🙂

    Sliding furtively through the clutter of unknown hobbies, she stops at the drawer, waits then with slender fingers grasps the precious tendrils.

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