We pick through the washed up
Junk
Huddle over the silt
Like a prospect of gold
It passes the time
Forces the breath
Any junk is better than home
Cars aren’t here now
We walk
The thin soles of our shoes slipping in the mud
We need to wipe them
The only clean ledges are graves
Funny how death survives death
We do not wipe our feet there
Some laws still apply
The postman wears his uniform
The red faded but still inside
He smiles tries to say hello
We have all forgotten words
He works
Prospecting his own gold
Picks up dead mice
Posts them in the water
Carefully as letters
birthday thank you congratulations sympathy sympathy
We do not remember
I wish for that absorption
Not in silt
In mind
I see too much
Feel everything
And nothing
My skin is purple and swollen under the sun
It hurts
I wish it would break and let the infection in
Force me to the grass in happy delirium
They pulled me back from the grass once
Now if you are pulled you never come back
No one misses what is not there
The light makes me sick
Us sick
The kind of head sick that comes from gasoline and ice cream
burn high cold
I wish it was gone
I wish I was gone
The children draw with stones on the ground
Some laws still apply.
As a child I loved fossicking in dumps of trash. Never did I expect to walk with you as you did the same. The gold and the filth are all intermingled. I never used to be worried about the smell and the dead things that was all part of life but it enabled me to accept that life is still beautiful as children played around me in the muck. What a stunning piece of writing Jae.
ReplyDeleteThanks for coming along OldEgg..yes it's amazing what you can make out of rubbish..and you're right sticky grimy fingers don't even register when you're little..or that kids on a fancier street are probably playing with toys..jae
ReplyDeleteI love the textures, depth in this.
ReplyDeleteThank you Laurie..
ReplyDeleteI have read back a bit.
ReplyDeleteThese thoughts are more striking when taken in larger doses.
I feel something hitting me when I read your words.
I like that feeling very much.
Rock on!
So profound and dimensional. "I wish it would break and let the infection in
ReplyDeleteForce me to the grass in happy delirium"...stunning.
I really enjoyed your write this morning... you will be gone, we all will be gone before you know it, it all passes so quickly. Fall on the grass, roll, and laugh, before it is over. I remember a few years ago,( there is little grass in the desert, mostly sandy dirt, and stickers), I had an appointment, there was a small area of grass, and I slipped off my shoes, and felt the cool soft tickle of the beautful green grass. Blessed is nature. A comfort for most of what ails us.
ReplyDeleteI am glad it is a good hit..thank you Rex..
ReplyDeleteThank you very much Scribbler..
Thank you Annell..I am glad there is grass in the desert..both literally and otherwise..slightly wet grass and bare feet also good ;)
So much vivid imagery wrapped in profound words of wisdom, I love that some rules still apply! Excellent!
ReplyDeleteI hate to admit it..but we probably do need a few rules..thanks Josie
ReplyDeleteThought-provoking and full of emotion. And very beautiful AS POETRY.
ReplyDeleteI love the collage of this poem: the filth, the gold, the graves, the dead mice like sinister little letters of congratulation. It's gruesome but not fearsome.
ReplyDeleteHave you read Candide by Voltaire? If not, get a good translation and enjoy. What made me think of it was your gold prospecting among the rubbish. In Candide, the hero finds himself in a country where the mud is made of gold and the stones are precious gems. He wants to take it home by the cartload and the king is puzzled why Candide would want his mud.
What is trash and what is treasure? Someone (often not us) makes that call. Something to think about.
Jae, I so identify with these words:
ReplyDeleteI see too much
Feel everything
And nothing
Eerie, isn't it?? Those feelings???
Just saying. I think I know what you mean.
Do you have any books published, Jae? I would love to read one.
ReplyDeleteThanks Granny Smith..
ReplyDeleteThank you Ann..i like the idea of it as a collage..although glueing things together is tricky..trash is moveable..in lots of ways..i imagine there will come a time when books are burnt for heat and paper money is used as kindling..thank you very much for the reading recommendation..no, I have not read Voltaire..I am always nervous of straying beyond contemporary..
Thank you Mary..it is eerie..and something that people often find hard to understand..so thank you for sharing..
Maybe one day Ben! thank you..
Your writing is so vivid and purposeful, Jae. I experienced the scene, recoiled at the odors and atrocity, yet embraced the possibilities and ferocity. You've illuminated the survival instinct that carries most... even those wishing to be let go.
ReplyDeleteThis story, fleshed out, would be an amazing screenplay. There are so many avenues for your massive talent!
you seem to see the total ridge depth of the corduroy...
ReplyDeletePurposeful whilst I am not perhaps Kim...thank you..one day I will get past two hundred words..and try out punctuation,;!)(?-"!;)
ReplyDeleteTsk thank you Glenn..corduroys are built to weather a few storms..
Amazing, affecting write.
ReplyDeleteThank you Mama Zen..
ReplyDeletethis was a pleasure to fall into...
ReplyDeleteJae, this is a powerful piece. Before reading comments, I was in a post-apocalyptic state of mind, as though (think Riddely Walker) the words weren't coming because they no longer existed; as though the laying down on the grass was a form of surrender. I gleaned so much from this, probably more than you intended, but I wanted you to know. Powerful indeed. Peace, Amy
ReplyDeleteThank you Rob..
ReplyDeleteThank you Amy..the apocalyptic mind-set sticks like fury when it comes..maybe we shared a patch of grass for a little while..in companionable silence and understanding..i hope..
The thought of 'death survives death' sits with me and the idea of life starts to feel futile. The images are so vivid here, the postman's smile as he posts into the water and the happy delirium in the grass. I fear what the world might come to without strength in personal limitations and laws, or maybe it has already come to that.
ReplyDeleteYour words give me so much more to think about throughout the day.
Great writing, Jae. I especially like the line: No one misses what is not there. We can all find gold, if we're willing to dig around for it!
ReplyDeleteThere is something about the word 'junk' and your repetition of it that is very striking. It's an a harsh word. I like that it was we in this poem, you normally seem so alone and isolated. Here someone is with you, by your side. :)
ReplyDeleteMaybe in some ways Archna..but the unspoken things probably keep going..thank you..
ReplyDeleteThanks Belva..a bit of digging can be good..
Thank you Dandelion girl..always good to have another presence to protect you from the junk..