The Sound of Backwards Hinges.

The Sound of Backwards Hinges.

A Poem by Jeanmarie Flaherty

He's drenched in all the Tuesdays I walked away from, backwards, towards him, in every


hour


I shattered mirrors with the violence of tears...


he's


suffering


his mistakes, this time, he's guilty and I'm


in between the seasons, stuck where it snows, with bare feet and frayed blue jeans hanging over the edge of sunshine....


I'm waiting, it's not April, there's no delight of discovery and he's holding on, so tight, the bruises of suffocation and the irritation of doorways...


I'm not Van Gogh, I tell him, I can hear you just fine.



He's.....


burned with apprehension and decisions I can't change, I remold myself to fit into his week but the days are disordered and Sunday hangs upside down....


and I'm stuck


on the edges of his voice and inside the scent of his favorite sweater, it's not January


(I whispered)


it's not the beginning no matter how backwards we are, it's not....


and my legs beg to be bare as I dangle over the end, I hang his noose up neatly so as not to tangle death but it's imminent, he said, and maybe


it's


almost short enough


for me.



My knees speak in the knock knocking hope of front doors, I bang across the wood of bed frames and discover how it feels to be alone, I close my eyes and think...


that it certainly isn't June this time...


that we haven't been discovered in quite some time, that the letters are folded maybe to small, that my handwriting learned just how to scramble


and I'm thankful God didn't watch me today...


maybe I'll be pure again, maybe


he'll let go.




It's not...


you and I


(I tell him)


but the mockery of how we sighed at midnight, it's the jealousy of March...you know how she crumbles...you know how she contorts and twists things....


and hangs words like nooses from the ceiling...


as his suggestions scar my brain and I think to myself


thank God it's not August, at least, thank God


I'm not running into


doors.


 

© 2009 Jeanmarie Flaherty


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Featured Review

I have decided to take up residency here in this poem...let me know if I am in the way but until then the ghost over it shall be me....and I am thankful that God is a blind rolling wave...a ferry out to the ocean where the whispers drown. I'll try and keep my August down...Thanks Little Miss Van Gogh out in the better harvest .

Posted 15 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

and I'm thankful God didn't watch me today...
maybe I'll be pure again, maybe
he'll let go.

yes I had to come back to read some more...I'm captivated.

Posted 12 Years Ago


This is beautiful. The way you want to be stripped down to the flesh and embrace the end as if it were to begin again. The way you manipulate time and space along with your choice of months. Black and white months like March and January makes me think you are into taking pictures for it seems that you see your moments through a lens and then you write it. Brilliant again Jeanmarie.

Posted 12 Years Ago


Oh wow! I really liked this write,
Your imagery and detail is so good in this write,
and youe emotionis come off really well.

Posted 12 Years Ago


I have decided to take up residency here in this poem...let me know if I am in the way but until then the ghost over it shall be me....and I am thankful that God is a blind rolling wave...a ferry out to the ocean where the whispers drown. I'll try and keep my August down...Thanks Little Miss Van Gogh out in the better harvest .

Posted 15 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


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Added on December 12, 2009

Author

Jeanmarie Flaherty
Jeanmarie Flaherty

The Gulf, FL



About
I am reality, I am art, I am every dream I've ever had and the corners of my childrens lips when they smile. I am tears and laughter, I am shoulders and knees, I am a writer, a photographer, a mother... more..

Writing