remembering

old stuff

like a thief--


I stole silence away and
needed to be noticed
because I’d forgotten my face under
all the heavy air.

it hung like the perfume
of someone that I used to love.
I groped my features like a blind man
and thought them misshapen,
wondered if that’s why they left,
though I’d never thought of it before.

I think I loved someone else-- or thought I did.
Had I ever loved?

Smells:

cement broken rain, peat soaking in the winter.
They used to smell more like the sharp scent
of too much perfume rather than the perfume itself.

Their wrists did, anyways, and their neck.
They smelled like cinnamon and rain and peat
and when I breathed them in,
it was like the break of rain in sunshine,
the chill that takes the numb.

They used to put their hands on my face,
hold me together in bits and pieces while everything else fell apart.
Less like a blind man, though.
More like a maker.

Reviews

[.........]

"Smells"- scents always make a big impact on me. I can feel them swirling around me, I can sense them all around me. Your poem is very good. "Cement broken rain. peat soaking in the water" "of too much perfume rather than the perfume itself"

Man. I really like your style.

[Dani]

I'm pretty sure this is my favorite piece of yours. Losing shadows was brilliant as well--I read that one first and came to this, thinking "there's no way she could top that"--but when I read this I almost cried. At least, I think a part of myself died inside because this was so beautiful... it could be because I'm actually slowly dying of illness, but I doubt it. :P My point is that this is so... I don't even know what to say. It's gorgeous. and I don't say that lightly.
The most useless review you've ever gotten I'm sure, but there's not much else to say. I forgot how much I love your writing. SO YOU BETTER START AGAIN. ....after you get your work done. of course.