Saturday, April 01, 2006

Erasure

By now, I thought
I would barely remember you;
I would have been long gone,
migrated away like the birds
or maybe the butterflies, light
glinting off their fluttering wings.

But who thinks of these things?

Who thinks their wings
will be broken or that time
will pour through their
fingertips like sand
from an old hourglass?

A man on the street chants
love songs from Solomons.
The walls of my barren house sigh,
collapse inward, like a burial ground,
like the first burial ground
of the first woman ever.

I walk backwards.
Out of my daisy-bound
wedding hat, out
of that day I first met you,
out of my body into
limitless time.
I erase you. I am free.

16 comments:

Michael Parker said...

Most excellent. Beautiful.

Pris said...

Thanks, Michel.

Nick Zegarac said...

Very disturbing post - casting off old sins and hang ups, the social abandonment of it all, and finally, the profound sense of loss caught in the undercurrent of rebirth. Very fine.

Pris said...

Hi Nick
I'm glad you saw the hope/redemption part of this poem. Thanks for commenting.

J. Andrew Lockhart said...

a lot said -- well done

Pris said...

Hi Andrew. Thanks~

Endment said...

Wonderful flow of words
I especially like the sense of freedom to move forward and put the pain behind.

Pris said...

Thanks Endment..I've not ignored your site. It's been a slow couple of days.

Berenice said...

This quite caught me off guard...particularly these lines:

Who thinks their wings
will be broken or that time
will pour through their
fingertips like sand
from an old hourglass?


I'm not sure of your poem is a form of acceptance or release - or perhaps both tinged with regret. That's the feel it has for me anyway.

I do love that verse which!!

Pris said...

I think it probably is a little bit of both. And thanks.

Geoff Sanderson said...

wonderful poem Pris - I definitely read it as a rite of passage, recording the painful past and the loss of just a little more innocence - but then a casting-off and a sense of release at the end.
Fly free, baby :-)

Pris said...

thanks, sweet friend! I feel those wings growing now.

Ellen M Johns said...

"A man on the street chants
love songs from Solomons.
The walls of my barren house sigh,
collapse inward, like a burial ground,
like the first burial ground
of the first woman ever."
Excellent!!!!

Ellen M Johns said...

Forgot to mention how I love the portrayal of the claustrophobia in this.

Pat Paulk said...

As always Pris a very beautiful write. Sad, but hopefully liberating.

Pris said...

Hi Pat. Thanks. It's always good to see you.