there are galaxies that cross expanses so vast
that the hairs of every person ever born,
strung end-to-end in a vast hypothetical skein,
wouldn’t even guide its solitary path
for a century. there are millennia of us –
acres of skin, whole nebulae
constructed solely from the dust of our bones,
and the echo of space
may swallow every last whisper of our voices
as we crumble. We are a pinprick,
and yet beneath every star there is a graveyard,
a headstone, an angel carved with names –
a hospital, a motorway, a single quiet room
where a mother washes the hair of her baby
and promises to love him forever.
A contest entry
- inside the sounds inside by Nicolette.
5000 points, ended May 31, 29 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
this is such a unique and creative take on the contest prompt... I really liked this and the quiet voice here that touches wide and far. I especially liked the latter part of the poem and the way the hard truth of death is balanced by birth and the mother's gentle touch. Wonderful poetry - thank you for this entry.
~ Nicolette
-
and yet beneath every star there is a graveyard,
a headstone, an angel carved with names – a hospital, a motorway, a single quiet
room
-that is incredible.
i am speechless
-
Awwww..... "an angel carved with names," and I hear the echo of gold ink as that mother writes her child's name in heaven's book.
Karen
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