the slow process of unfolding

a waterfall– i thought it would egress, this guilt

doesn’t throw daggers or smash

concrete concaves. it nibbles,

fasting slowly on frayed nerves.

 

quiet has a funny way of stealing me back

 

to the way I’ve pretended to ignore your mail

which for some fucked up reason

still won’t stop forwarding here

 

the way i misunderstood

how frail you were

when your eyes locked with mine

and you apologized

for living through death.

 

the way you never missed a birthday

and wrote me notes 4 times a year—-;

 

sometimes i brush dusty books off the shelf

and feel close to your soul

 

i try to find words that can make sense of this,

of you and myself

 

but all i can remember is the last time we looked at each other

i handed you cheap flowers

and left to go do my homework.

 

your viewing came one week later

i didn’t want to attend

your face ashen and beautiful

a trembling work of art

quickly folding to fog for two years.

 

but then comes your letter;

alive and unread

lost from 2008 behind a shelf.

mice morph to rats.

teeth clench vaulted tears;

i

did

not

take

you

for

granted,

 

please.

 

 

Advertisements

13 thoughts on “the slow process of unfolding

  1. I like how you tied in losing the picture of someone in your head with them folding into your mind.
    I feel sorrowful for you, though, if this is bred out of your life’s circumstances.
    Beautiful poem.

      1. I wish you the best to putting the circumstance to terms. I personally have faced that process and I know it is not easy, though I cannot fully empathize or sympathize. But I know the scars are the kind of thing that makes a person, and my heart goes out to you.

  2. This really pinched my heart. I love this line too, “quiet has a funny way of stealing me back”.

    Thank you for the follow, it’s always great to meet a fellow poet here in WordPress. I’m looking forward to reading more of your works and I hope you’ll enjoy my verses too πŸ™‚

      1. I could relate. My mom was killed by two thugs while she was on her way home. We had our difficulties and I took her for granted …. and then she was gone, I never even got to tell her “thank you” and “I love you.” Aaaaaahhh … life can sure dish out lemons sometimes. I miss her, but life has a way of healing us too.

        Thank you for your poem. It was cathartic for me.

  3. Convincing ghosts rewrite our certain pasts, or bitter to the last, at least try to inject their dying voices, inject their reasons, their stories. We all, full of hunger, scurry for validation, deny our small wickednesses, rewrite, remember. A great piece this is with nice shifts and changes of pace!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s