if your buried name feeds flowers or wasps or nothing at all.
All day there is bread on a board, and a book's pages rolling with the breeze.
There is rain and minutes dying and both the best and least of these...
The things I placed on velvet, in a box
as children or idiots do, with fistfuls of forget-me-nots
staining fingers blue, as ink will do
when spilled across pulped pages, entre nous...
It doesn't matter whose way
is the less foolish one
or which moon
will rise on the ash of a setting sun.
_______
for micro-poetry.
This is so melodic.. and sadly happy.. those damn forget-me-nots..
ReplyDeleteThese two lines are so weighty and honest - I love them.
It doesn't matter whose way is the less foolish one
or which moon will rise on the ash of a setting sun.
Those last two lines... Wow.
ReplyDeleteAnd the almost invisible rhyme scheme.
Couldn't you have done a haiku? ;)
I love this. The forget-me-nots break my heart. The things I placed on velvet, in a box
ReplyDeleteas children or idiots do, with fistfuls of forget-me-nots....the loves we have lost. I still have one of his tee shirts sealed in plastic in an enameled box. This is my favorite of yours for a long time
This is why love hurts... love the last lines, it says all about how love is... the hurt and pain, but even more that foolishness
ReplyDeleteGAH! Those closing lines just sent a zinger through my heart. Outrageously wonderful writing.
ReplyDeleteThis one certainly brought out the sadness. Your words are beautiful.
ReplyDeleteI have edited this since posting it.
ReplyDeleteHow easy it was to picture the break of the relationship and her coming out of it with a stronger more confident attitude for the future. Excellent writing.
ReplyDeleteA beautiful and satisfying read, thanks :-)♥
ReplyDeleteWhen love has done the 360 degree...and run out, this is where it ends...in nonchalance. Poignant and beautifully done.
ReplyDeleteTo steal from WC Williams, everything depends on what we put in the velvet box. (Entre nous.) A little honey for your tea?
ReplyDeleteThis is so soft, so full of the music of love and passion, yet the aftertaste is pungent with all the regret and all the feeling of waste that comes when one has invested, "as children or idiots do" in something that is evanescent as foam on a wave, pounded into the air and gone. I think the re-worked ending works much better at evoking the resignation and almost numbness of that barren place where one is left when the tide recedes.Beautiful writing, Shay.
ReplyDeleteI particular like the opening; it has a very original take on life going on without the other. But the whole poem gives a strong and original (and kind of wishful) sense of that. Thanks. k.
ReplyDeleteA beauty, Shay. I love the lines:
ReplyDelete'All day there is bread on a board, and a book's pages rolling with the breeze.
There is rain and minutes dying and both the best and least of these'
and
'...with fistfuls of forget-me-nots
staining fingers blue, as ink will do
when spilled across pulped pages'.
forget-me-nots are such a visual in this piece. I think we all want to remember and be remembered even in those bittersweet moments when goodbyes are so bruising. This is beautiful Shay.
ReplyDeleteThe first lines are just incredible. Just incredible.
ReplyDeleteTo me, this is a retelling of The Corpse Bride. A velvet box is both a coffin and a ring box.
ReplyDeleteI think what you have put in the ring box are these:
"bread on a board, and a book's pages rolling with the breeze.
... rain and minutes dying and both the best and least of these"
I think "It doesn't matter" means, either way, the proposal stands.
I think to get to a place of promise relationally, you have to bury or let go of all expectations and requirements, and say, " Whatever/Whoever you are, I will be here with you."
Leaves you to wonder how long it takes to get to this point. Closing lines are stellar!
ReplyDeleteso finely done, Shay ~
ReplyDeleteAs children or idiots do. That made me guffaw, and it's totally true <3
ReplyDelete