former lovers

sometimes i get

these “urges”

 

i reach deep within

and pull open my ribcage

rusty iron hinges

creak

and the beating heart within

barely held up by

strands of sinew

sagging

 

the rot and mold

eating away

at what’s left of it

 

did you know

that bones are

tan not white?

 

there was a girl

i once knew she

cremated herself

in the back of

a chevrolet

 

and her iron rib cage

melted into a small pool

of glowing metal

 

the undertaker

gave it to me separately

from the ashes

 

and I keep it on a

shelf in my office

where sometimes

i use it as a

paperweight

Reviews

[Eilis]

This speaks to me of how the past is always with us. Well, I’ve learned not everyone feels this to the same extent but do know that most people carry things with them that shape not only how they view new experiences but how they view and relate to themselves.

When I was beginning therapy, I became fascinated (or maybe afraid of/repelled) by this concept of carrying two people within myself and needing to get rid of one of them if I was ever to move forward. That inner child, as it were, carries the burden of so many things that we live with or bury according to our ability. Your poem made me think of this because there is this dynamic of feeling tethered to the past—living with the lover’s ashes, dealing with “urges” that in my understanding of the poem mirror the lover’s cremation—and not understanding how to escape it. It can sometimes also be a fear of escaping it.

Sometimes the past defines us in ways we are not cognizant of, but there can be an unwillingness to let go because these things feel as much a part of us as our own limbs. But also painful, heavy, unwieldy. The imagery here is powerful. Makes me flinch. The idea of someone’s mortal remains being a paperweight conveys a sense that this artifact is both significant and inescapable. And the way the descriptions of both bodies somewhat mirror one another creates a raw connectivity that is haunting.

The psychic connection to the lost, to the past, to things we don’t understand can be so strong and affecting. The past itself becomes both living and dying at the same time. At least that is my sense of it. I’m not sure. There’s a strong sense of the past and present merging and making it difficult to place oneself firmly in one or the other. It’s a powerful concept. Powerful poem.

[. serah .]

~ wow... i've read this piece so many times already that i've lost count... i can't begin to express how moving the narrator's journey is... ~ it seems like he has to move entire planets with his bare hands in order to move on... and that he goes through the experience almost every day... ~ i can see how seriously we are impacted by people we have known closely... whether we realize it consciously or not...