A Missing Story

 

Desert junkyard cars, 

roughed up. Gutted engines.

Each rust spot, a missing story.

Dust blows its dry breath.

 

There are memories,

like knotted threads, of things

I refuse to call back.

I reach for hope, an afterlife,

a pain that feels alive.

 

An on the move hawk, low

flying, offering shadow,

chooses whose life

to siphon: reptile, rodent

a flush of black birds.

 

The warm wind is not enough

to cool this blistering.

Like a dead wire cut and dropped,

I’m drowsy, the heat moves in.

 

I daydream yellow eyes

of predator. Fearless

explosion of speed. A snake

jerked into the sky.    

 

Partly wounded, grief,

the sun’s razor slicing my skin.

A staggering memory: you were the feathers

plucked from my mouth.

==================================

from my unpublished manuscript: Fragmented

©dah / dahlusion, 2018, 2019 all rights reserved

first published in Gravel Magazine  

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

well, damn...this is really good...the feathers plucked from my mouth....such allegory.
I stop at places like this, junkyards...and just stare...imagining all those wrecks in full blown use...just like walking past an old factory that stands abandoned with broken windows...
in disuse...but once a bee hive of activity..
and when looking at our memories of a someone who is gone now...we do get knots in our throats and in our memories.
viciously full of stark imagery here...i think some of it actually cut me and made me bleed.
j.

[DAH]

Thank you, Jacob! I'm happy that it works for you, and that you can relate. Love your feedback on this one. Solid!

Cheers,
DAH

[Scarlet]

This is really good. I especially like how you describe certain things. "Dust blows its dry breath." That's my favorite one. Great job

[DAH]

Thank you, Scarlet for the quote, and for this fine comment.

Cheers,
DAH

[R.E. Ray]

Striking poem, sir. I found myself thinking about the hawk, his perspective, his similarities to us, viewing other living things as a means to satisfying our needs, and the memory wreckage we leave behind but sometimes resurfaces, bringing a pain and misery, a regret perhaps that must be unique to our species.

[DAH]

Again, your perspective on my work is a delight to read. Thank you, R.E.!

[Robert Trakofler]

Sometimes after a full moons night i wake up with that dry iron bitter taste in my mouth and some tiny bits of flesh between my teeth so stubborn to pick them out with my toothbrush and then it hits me what did i eat last night I must of sleep ate again but i can never find anything missing from my refrigerator. I love to peruse junkyards for parts and i scrap regularly for breakfast at least once a month i haul a bunch to the Warhola junkyard yes that's right Andy Warhol's uncles place on the north-side of Pittsburgh across the street is an old Irish Diner that i take my winnings to and eat breakfast with a friend or two its a threefer for me I get to recycle a free breakfast and one or two pices of junk for my next art project:)

[DAH]

A worthy anecdote.

Thank you, Robert!

[Cherrie]

You think about a car and each rust spot a missing story, then as you think of a truck each blemish a memory.
:)
A really unique telling, which is always refreshing.

[DAH]

Thank you, Cherrie ... rust is alive and holding stories ...

[barleygirl]

I don't read any poetry beyond reviewing here at the cafe & this is some of the most extraordinary writing I've read in months. I use similar kinds of observations, but the way you express things is so fresh & unexpected . . . lots to be inspired by! (((HUGS))) Fondly Margie

[DAH]

I'm honored by this hefty praise, barleygirl, and yes to using similar kinds of observation. Happy to read that my work inspires you.

Thank you,
DAH

[gram linski]

awesome piece of writing, Jacob wrote my review for me, lol,

[DAH]

ha ha ......

[augustus]

I too, look and stare at wrecked buildings and imagine what they were like when occupied and working!

[DAH]

Thank you.

[Fran Marie]

Each dent and rust mark tells its own
story..and arid heat of day and hawk lends
the dusty bleak touches within the memories
the story holds ..I so like the ending here as
If the final memory is lifted and released to
the winds of time

Nice Work

[DAH]

Thank you, Fran, for this fine comment!

[Lorry]

I like how you can see a life story in a spot of rust and how this plays out like a dream where the channels change rapidly, without warning.
The feathers plucked from mouth at the end says to me that these are our thoughts and fears we struggle to explain, eventually released by being able now to put them into words after nightmarish muteness.
That is what I felt from it, but I have been wrong before. Honest 😀

[DAH]

With any piece of art interpretations can and will vary. Thank you for this fine critique. I like it!

Cheers,
DAH