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October 24, 2001
After Diagnosis
Sometimes I lick her skin and it tastes like hot sand.
She moans, pooling deep into the mattress,
into water — sweat, come, solidified hair of her still-growing
nails —
like a breeze coming onshore,
like the leaves springing to life over the lawn.
The shadow of a kingfisher hovers over a still pond.
It grows larger and cooler.
It moves like a hand covering my wife's eyes, bones of pure feeling,
the blind tongue entering the warm cunt.
The roots cracking the house foundation begin to bleed.
The wind scatters vowels like an animal's dream.
Commentarium (9 Comments)
this is the most beautiful thing ive read in a very long time. i cry... thank you.
My wife is dying of breast cancer. Thank you.
The poem is weak and doesn't make sense. A body doesn't pool into a mattress. Skin does not taste like hot sand even in wild imaginings; it's smooth, not grainy. Work on better similes and metaphors. The poem would be more effective without the theatrics and exagerated poet attempt.
In the poem, Instead, eliminating "like tears"
would make the poem more effective. That's over kill.
Subtle it down.
nice work. thanks,
grassandwindows
my friend has cancer
this doesn't begin to cover it.
This made me cry. Yes, to the idiot who said bodies do not pool in bed....yes they do...upon birth, sex, and death. That else is there?
This made me cry. Yes, to the idiot who said bodies do not pool in bed....yes they do...upon birth, sex, and death. What else is there?
2J68ow Hooray! the one who wrote is a cool guy!!!
Now you say something