Wretch

The stench of death

Clasps my lungs

And my hands

In turn the left breast pocket

As if there were a psalm

Buried within the syncopation.

The gulls gather overhead

Their vehement cries

Perforating and with shrillness

Stitching the world

Into an arbitrary silence.

Her yellow dress curls

Like moist paper.

Her strange eyes

Pinned to a darkening nimbus,

I await explanation

Though it serves no one

To speak.

He left me she says

In a voice without

Thread or continuity.

He left me again and again

And then finally

I lost count.

How permanent

A thing is when lost.

She folds her body

Into a river,

Still and transparent

She sheds her remaining tears

Her allegories, her fractured pride

And falls into a sleep

Too vacuous to admit

Her melancholy.

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7 responses to “Wretch

  1. I love these:

    “As if there were a psalm
    Buried within the syncopation.”

    “Stitching the world
    Into an arbitrary silence.”

    “Her yellow dress curls
    Like moist paper.
    Her strange eyes
    Pinned to a darkening nimbus,
    I await explanation
    Though it serves no one
    To speak.” (The girls make me think of a little girl. I think it’s her daddy who’s left her over and over again. I’m reading a book that kind of goes along with this, so I’m sure that’s guiding my reading. Feeling let down by her father … that always ruins a girl. I’m not sure who “you” are in this. Maybe a confidant or foster parent. A mentor. But you’re sick in some way. Maybe the physical illness is a metaphor for some other sort of limitation or illness that keeps you from taking in this child as your own. There’s some sort of barrier; you want to help her, but you really aren’t equipped. Maybe you are another neglected/abused child. Ooh, now I’m thinking of the runaways/homeless kids in the show Gotham [the pre-Batman series, about Bruce Wayne as a child].)

    “How permanent
    A thing is when lost.”

    This piece definitely makes me think of the “buck up and move forward” attitude tough kids/adults have to take on when they seem to encounter an excessive number of painful experiences/situations. Some people just get used to one thing after another going wrong, so they come to expect it … to prepare for it ahead of time. They have no choice but to adopt a chin-up, you-can’t-hurt-me sort of attitude.

    • Thank you so much! I love your interpretations sometimes they allow me to see something that was hidden within me.

      This part stood out
      you’re sick in some way. Maybe the physical illness is a metaphor for some other sort of limitation or illness that keeps you from taking in this child as your own.

      Because of my mental health issues I never feel adequate and as I start the job seeking process that sort of weighs on me that desire to be more, to move forward, to heal so that I can be the mother, the wife, the person I want

      That is so true being abused as a child, you are too busy surviving, you can’t really dwell on shit or you will get swallowed up

  2. WOW, that last stanza is killer-good; I LOVE “she folds her body into a river”. And preceding that, I’m taken by the notion of losing count of how many times someone can leave us–painfully relate-able, and honestly, I’m glad I never kept count (I’d be way crazier than I am now, and that’s sayin’ somthin’).

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