Nice. Really nice
:)
Really like the new ending.
-----Original Message-----
From: sharon brogan <[log in to unmask]>
To: [log in to unmask]
Sent: Tue, 15 Jul 2008 8:35 pm
Subject: Re: another snap -- July 11, 02008 REVISION (#1, I'm betting on more...)
OK -- once more:
It's a dark night,
a slight moon.
The scar remains,
pale silent stitches
from wrist past elbow.
She held herself
together. She healed.
They used a saw
to remove the cast.
It screamed.
She wakes in the breeze
of the ceiling fan,
sinks into deep
mattresses; the sweetness
of strawberries; tart lemon cake;
the full scent of grass, just mowed,
lying down on its own fresh self;
the soft underwater feel of tree-
shaded rooms. Even the taste
of mountain fires,
smoke in her mouth.
Even that pleases her.
On Tue, Jul 15, 2008 at 10:45 AM, sharon brogan <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
>
> They used a saw to remove
> the cast. It screamed. The scar
>
> remains, pale silent stitches
> from wrist past elbow.
>
> She held herself
> together. She healed, his absence
>
> a pallid emptiness.
> It's a dark night, a slight moon.
>
> She wakes in the breeze
> of the ceiling fan.
>
> She sinks into deep
> mattresses; the sweetness
>
> of strawberries on tart lemon cake;
> the full scent of grass, just mowed,
>
> lying down on its own fresh self;
> the soft underwater feel of a tree-
>
> shaded room. Even the smoke
> from mountain fires,
>
> the taste of ashes in her mouth.
> Even that pleases her, reminds her
>
> that she lives.
> --
>
>
> ~ SB | http://www.sbpoet.com |
>
>
> On Sat, Jul 12, 2008 at 10:37 AM, sharon brogan <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
>
>>
>> Quite young, I broke my arm.
>> Old now, still the scar remains,
>> a pale and silent remnant, like
>> small white stitches from wrist
>> past elbow. They used a saw
>> to remove the cast.
>>
>> It screamed. Your leaving
>> was like an invisible limb ripped
>> from my body, torn flesh, no neat
>> scalpel wound. I held myself
>> together. I healed. All that's left
>> is the suggestion of a scar, a pallid
>>
>> emptiness. I wake in the night
>> to write this, in the breeze
>> of the ceiling fan. It's a dark night,
>> a slight moon. Chill approaches
>> the record low for this hot month
>> by human reckoning. I have
>>
>> softened, comfort is my pleasure
>
> now, passion a fading mark
>> in memory, sensuality its remnant.
>> Deep mattresses; the sweetness
>> of strawberries on tart lemon cake;
>> the full scent of grass, just mowed,
>>
>> lying down on its own fresh self;
>> the soft underwater feel of a tree-
>> shaded room. Even the smoke from
>> mountain fires, the taste of ashes
>> in my mouth. Even that pleases me,
>> reminds me that I live.
>>
>>
>
|