In rain, my fingernails lose their
spiky, sloping hard-edged taste,
and start to look like dream catchers,
or wishing wells, or the mud
that wetly hollows out a marsh
to enclose a falling star.
In rain I can talk about it.
But only in my head –
and only in certain spaces
of my head, the places
where the bones start to grow
downwards, the old animal holes:
nowhere electric – no synapses,
no pores retching out hairs
across my scalp – nowhere
which could ever be accessed.
Fibreglass weaves in and out
of the places where I’ve bitten
my nails and my lips,
and coils my hair in a domed
tiara, silvering it with salt.
Light tolls across the tarmac
and the paving stones,
and all the words and all the water
are gasped up by the sun.
A contest entry
- Silence by Lislaine.
600 points, ended October 16, 2008, 29 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest - Stitched Mouth by Exodus.
3500 points, ended October 18, 2008, 11 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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My main point in this is to watch your punctuation. Another minor thing (and it's only small) but I wasn't sure about the repetition of "head" in the third stanza, I think you could have chosen another word and still kept that idea solid. Other than that your imagery is fantastic.
Thank you -
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Thanks
Would you mind pointing out the places where my punctuation goes wrong? My brain is slightly dead tonight...
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Waw!! Really amazing!! I love it! goodluck
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I expect you will do well in this contest. I was mesmerized with how you strung your words together. Some of the pairings are not usual but seem to flow incredibly well together. I am particularly drawn to the ending stanza with the last two lines wishing that I had written them first!
Bravo!
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Amazing.
Your wording is really interesting.
Best of luck.
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