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falling apart (in the wash)


It is not that we

wandered

or stumbled
like lost souls.

After-all
dead fingerprints  
do stain.

It is not that we  
saw bright eyes
bloated with the sap
of impetuous youth.

Some fireflies do fly,
in glorious frantic
moments.

It is not that we

unpicked fabrics
of society, love or
favourite jeans.

Nor is it that

they were well worn
or faded.

It's just that without them.

 

I feel so naked.












A contest entry

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Comments


  • misselaineous gold member
    July 20

    Edit | Reply
    such powerful images deadfingerprints really grabbed at me this is good writing and i am happy that it adorns my contest naked is how i feel when left


  • grassisgreener
    July 7

    Edit | Reply
    oh, lovely. no, more like...dry. as if the poem were a suddenly arid day after months of humidity. not necessarily a good thing, but a state you've gotten used to, and feel entitled to.

    It is not that we
    unpicked fabrics
    of society, love or
    favourite jeans.

    very clever.

    i also like the entire poem as written in the negative. what it was not--it was not what you expected, or necessarily wanted, but it was what you had, and you'd like it back, please.

    some of your poems scare me. but sometimes that's the mark of a great writer--intensity. i will be back to read more.


  • Melissa Gayle gold member
    July 2
    Edit | Reply
    I love that dead fingerprint thing.