There are black stains on the shoulders of my jacket
I should really wash them out
But I can’t
I just can’t
They balance the black of my eyes
Like a map
Pulverized
Misread
I copied out the numbers
When no one was looking
As if they ever look
As if the numbers would make sense
Make a tiny part all right
Numbers mean nothing
They may last longer
Than me
I think that
Sometimes
All the time
Boiling the kettle at five am
You look taller lying down he said
I am short I replied
Very short
Maybe when I am flat the numbers do not hamper
The thoughts do not taunt
Maybe when I am flat
My body grows
To true size
Real size
Drink me
Eat me
Fall down the hole
Never come back
I am not sure if white rabbit is a friend
I am not sure if anything is friend
I find the cluster of silver thorns
Like my story falling
In the supermarket car park
They are joined together
All five shiny
Nestled together like friends
Maybe I should leave them
Maybe I should tell
i am not ok you know i am not ok
I pick them up
It’s not as if anyone looks
I put them in the bag
The bag with glass wrapped in tissue that they did not find
And I understand the numbers now
I understand that they mean nothing
That I mean nothing
I understand that I can leave the stains unwashed upon my
shoulders
It’s not as if anyone looks.
I always enjoy your words and thoughts...I try to picture a person that fits your words. In this I see a homeless woman sitting in a filthy park with only her half filled cart to keep her company. Good writing evokes thoughts, dreams and pictures from a reader. From your words I can always create my own movie.
ReplyDeleteBrilliant writing. Defeat and despair illuminated in a way few others could. Only a bright, creative being could conjure this, communicate this.
ReplyDeleteWe have choices, leave the stain there or, not. Life is all about having our own free will. I think we are taller when we lay down than when we stand up because everything relaxes more?
ReplyDeleteAs always, you give us all lots to think about, wonder and hope for with you and, for you.
everyone means something those who are lost and need help even more.
ReplyDeleteI just want to weep when I read this it touches me so deeply that anyone would feel this way.
Fascinating stuff. I love the numbers that don't mean anything. We quantify so much in this world, put things and people into boxes and attach tidy little labels. It all means nothing.
ReplyDeleteWhat's inside, though, does matter. And every hole has an exit, even if it's the same way one got in.
I often feel like Alice wondering when it will all make sense. You do not mean nothing, but I'm now worrying about the stains on your shoulders....*drinks the yellow bottle*
ReplyDeleteThank you GS..yes, in a way she is homeless..when home is not just the building you sleep in..you made me think of The Road..with the shopping cart..
ReplyDeleteThank you Kim..always ready to find a light..and give it back to me..
You're right Daydreamer..lying down is relaxing..if you hit the floor or (hopefully) the bed in the right way..thank you..
Thank you Sheilagh..there are always good people to find 'you'..even if it is via blog-land.. ;)
Thank you Ann..numbers and letters are different beasts..even random combinations of letters seem like some message..maybe it depends on one's powers of computation..and yes, most holes can be navigated out of..thank you..
Thank you Dandelion Girl..the potions are safe..Jae
ReplyDeleteThis reminded me of a lady I knew, always wore her t-shirt wrongside out and backward, with the tagging sticking up right under her chin. Not because she couldn't do better, but because she didn't choose to. It was her way of giving all the rules the finger.I say leave the stains. They look. Let's hope they learn from it.
ReplyDeleteOh, yes they do look. You stand tall when you write and I admire this writing so much. As Alice enters a wonderland so do we when we read your work. I love the idea of being taller when you are flat. Perhaps I am shorter when I lay flat then too, but I will never match up with your gift in writing.
ReplyDeletewell-written, lovely poem.....I feel angst....
ReplyDeleteYour writing is so light and unobtrusive, so honest and quiet. I can only imagine these stains to be misunderstandings, the numbers are not like you-they do mean nothing. I hope the cluster fades away.
ReplyDeleteI want to put you on a feather so that you can fly.
I am relating to the mistrust thing here about wondering if you can trust anything or anyone...things,you can,ones NAH!
ReplyDeleteI needed a really powerful, profound poem tonight and looks like I've found it :)
ReplyDeleteAs usual, I always feel I miss the point in these types of poetry. I thought this was a girl, unhappy in her relationship, hiding the glass she used to cut herself, but I didn't understand the thorns or the stains on her shoulders. Still, your piece gave me a useful image, and that'll do fine for me *smile*
ReplyDeleteThank you Nara..I like that she is remembered for her T-shirt back to front..a whole story in the way you dress..but only told if someone clever and knowing sees you ;)
ReplyDeleteThank you OldEgg..a standard 30cm shatter-proof ruler would be big enough to measure my writing..we all know I do short in so many ways..thank you ;)
Thank you Joanne..
Thank you Archna..a feather is lovely thank you..peppermint and a cool breeze..flying..
Right with you Rallentanda..thank you..
Thanks Ben..glad you liked..
Maybe it means different things to everyone.. that's good though..thank you Mojo..
Alice seems to need a pill to grow larger - this has a shrinking trend. Black stains and silver thorns, such contrasting visuals. I am on vacation and spotty internet but I had to look in on you :) You are okay in my book!
ReplyDeleteLoved this - felt like the intro to a novel and wonder where the story leads.
ReplyDeleteThank you for looking in Dee..in all meanings of the word..I hope you enjoy your holiday ..
ReplyDeleteThank you Perle..
Or maybe everyone is looking but trying not to get caught. Just because your short doesn't mean the numbers will leave you with nothing. (or so says me, a short person)
ReplyDeleteThank you Alice..not short changed..just perfectly short perhaps.. ;)
ReplyDeleteOne thing about poetry, we each can find our own meaning. I do know that 'they' look too. Look how many people look at and SEE your poetry. You are seen. Black stains or other minute details are not as important as the person and also the knowing that they can be gotten rid of IF one chooses to do so. A fine write, Jae.
ReplyDeleteOH! I love how you used pulverized.
ReplyDeleteThank you Mary - for your fine thoughts x
ReplyDeleteThanks Paula..it's an apt word..
This piece seems to communicate saddness, and it is up to us to remember, even when we don't know the meaning, there is still meaning. And some things are just waiting for us to give them meaning... a lot like find that "way home." Numbers are interesting, as they are very concert, they are always the same... but they might refer to camels or cats. I hope the sky parts and a little blue comes your way, I am sorry there have to be so many cloudy days....
ReplyDeleteSometimes clouds refresh..sometimes they stick like lead to your head .the former would be nice every now and again..thank you Annell..
ReplyDeleteI love the thread in your few-worded musings that stretch over run-on lines. It's beautiful!
ReplyDeleteThank you Karishma..
ReplyDelete