Dear foolish wound,
gaping gash in my pride,
self-inflicted affliction
of delusions of affection:
Bleed all you want
in the privacy of solitude,
but do not make gaudy
show of yourself in public.
I’m stitching you up
with coarse sutures of reason,
joining the ragged edges closed
for the sake of modesty.
Forty-eight hours
of dignity is all I ask.
Then you can break open
and bleed to your heart’s content.
Rgrl, you never fail to cast images that grab and hold tight. “Coarse sutures of reason.” Perfect, right down to the sheer sound of the words.
the combo of photo & print/ of skin sutured with staples and the raw words is haunting. how little to ask for healing ~ only two days. however, a short respite is enough to garner new strength to re- embark.
startling yet soothing.
*gracias*
Surely those are wire sutures rather than staples? I agree though, the image and words meld perfectly – the sutures running across the page like lines of the poem, reinforcing the mntra-like quality of the words themselves as the means to provide that temporary respite.
It reminds me of that scene in Dangerous Liaisons where Mme de Merteuil instructs the younger woman to drive nails into the palm of her hand during dinner parties and not show the pain.
wow.
Goose pimpled arms at 5:20am.
They weren’t that way before I read this.
This gave me shivers – it speaks so well of my situation right now, it’s uncanny. The pain that you are forced to hide…your first stanza in particular hit a raw spot in my heart. I’m drawn to reading it again and again, though each time pricks me with shame at my own foolish wounds.
Yes. Wow. How concrete yet evocative. how reasonable, yet haunting. No-nonsense, and nonsensical. This is going into my file of favorite poetry.
RGirl, you move me too deeply. Tears pricked immediately. I think I’ve been hiding wounds far too long, all for foolishly believing the wrong people. And yet, I’m still searching for that contact that will allow me to cope with the made-my-bed-now-lie-in-it parts of my reality.
How do you find the words that fit and ‘show’ so well?
I really would like to talk to more of your fans. Has anyone shown an interest in such things? I tried to send a comment a few days ago, but, silly me, put words in wrong ‘box’.
As stated, your poems and your stories are so touching even in their varied content and genre.
I’m (need another word for ‘glad’) you are out there and that I somehow found you.
Nancy
I’m glad you found me too, Nancy, and I’m glad the words had resonance for you.
I want to know about the 48 hours of dignity. Why does ‘she’ want 48 hours. That is going to haunt me now. Gruesome pic, RG. I love: ‘I’m stitching you up’, great expression used to best effect.
Penny x
I think it’s more effective if I let you wonder about that. *grin*
Absolutely x
These words definitely resonated with me, for reasons that I still regret (and no 48 hours of dignity could have helped).
“…self-inflicted affliction
of delusions of affection…”
AND I’m a sucker for alliteration!
Beautiful verse.
This hit me straight on the heart.
My open, bleeding, foolish heart.
And more than 15 years later, I’m still finding the scar to be tender at times. As though the sutures are still under the surface, wanting to poke through. Sometimes I worry at it, like a tongue pushing where a tooth used to reside, wondering why there is an emptiness and how on earth to fill it. Most times though, the nerves are blessedly numb.