Here we are -- me,
looking at you
looking back.
You dip your head, do a little shuffle dance.
I get the question but you know the answer
before my lips so much as flutter.
You are an odd blue-black, luminous by moonlight
but a cipher at noon, or so you pretend--
our story begun at the bitter end.
You lit and left, lit and left the hollow place in me,
inspecting, appraising, always returning.
You gave me baubles and trifles as rent.
I gave you blood where your sharp parts went.
Here is my dead-womb where you rode
and taught me to mark faces that hold no light.
Screaming helps too. I thought it might.
I am the house of glass, you the burnt wick.
You are the mother of every line I write,
your call the ink I use, fragrant and thick.
We are yin and yang at each other's back.
Me, looking at you
looking back.
______
for Desperate Poets "In The Footsteps Of Our Feathers"
Music: Beth Hart "Your Heart Is As Black As Night"
Wowwwwwww! "I gave you blood where your sharp parts went," and "You are the mother of every line I write." Fantastic.
ReplyDeleteSome relationships both leave holes and fill them all at once if that makes sense... I absolutely love this Shay; the feelings it evokes, the images it paints, and the rhyme is utterly beautiful. I just don't know how you keep writing these poems that stir the core of us!!
ReplyDeleteWe must honestly ask what we have in common with every hurtful relationship and the answer's in the mirror. Wickedly, woefully, crowfully woven - a wonder of song with a black eye for grand wings. "You gave me baubles and trifles as rent. / I gave you blood where your sharp parts went." Authoress and bane indeed & so adept keeping crow time. Rare work - so equally inspired and masterful. Pay heed, fellow desperate poets!
ReplyDeleteA relective gaze at the twin soul we do not wish to see or befriend and yet...that relection is us. Hard words to jeed from the caw of crow and so deftly whispered.
ReplyDeleteAs always Shay, there is such economy and force in every word you put down. It used to intimidate me a bit, your gift, but now it just inspires and lifts me. Too many good lines here to parrot back, but I did love "...You lit and left, lit and left the hollow place in me.." and the rest of that exquisite stanza, as well as "..I am the house of glass, you the burnt wick..." Rhyme is great as well, doing exactly what it should do. Brilliant writing, Shay.
ReplyDeleteI echo what Joy says above, too many good lines to quote back. A poem that dissects a relationship, turns a relationship inside out. You have a wonderful talent...JIM
ReplyDeleteYou spin darkness into gold feathers with your words as they wing into us as predator to prey. Captivating.
ReplyDeleteWow. I love the symbiotic yin-yangness here. Especially these brilliant lines:
ReplyDelete"Screaming helps too. I thought it might.
I am the house of glass, you the burnt wick.
You are the mother of every line I write,
your call the ink I use, fragrant and thick."
Like the banshee and her doomed love affair with a demon; they can't bear each other but can't live without each other. And yet you make it a thing of beauty :-)