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.
mindlovemisery 
Great words.
Thanks Dylan!
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
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’).
Thank you so much for your kind words, such a tormenting situation that
Indeed.