when my eye breaks

when my eye breaks

ashes lie under dirt patches

life resided once where puddles met

joined as one

they present the slightest ripple

then rest beneath a severe surface

where memory conjoins itself

to plot

and the last words of the book

are read

with a single tear.

erin-cilberto

3/7/2020

Reviews

[emmajoy]

' .. read - with a single tear.'

Tears are - like blood, an outward sign that something's wrong, hurts,. Only one of each is needed. but, neither says what. We surely know ourselves. 'Know (or should) there's something not quite right, not at all right, knows something's wrong. From there it's questions, answers and logical or robotic search for coming to terms with pain, with loss. Perhaps.

Your words are more than sad, j.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your kind words, em...
it's harder watching someone we love come to terms with that pain....so much harder
thank you,

great cat, by the way...
j.

[emmajoy]

I know far too well, j... still shed that tear..

That darling car's name was Chivers cos that's a brand name for Marmalade and he was a marmalade-coloured cat!

[barleygirl]

My mom died last May & I've never cried a tear (yet!?!) Sometimes I examine my guts for some sign of a tear & wonder if it'll hit me when I least expect, or if I really have no feelings about this at all. That's what your poem speaks to me (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i cry during movies, but in real life....rarely....i think my tears come through in the poetry.
read morei cry during movies, but in real life....rarely....i think my tears come through in the poetry.
thanks for sharing, my friend.
j.

[Eilis]

There is a sense of the funereal here. The ashes and dirt mound and plot and last words. Within that space also flourishes the garden of unresolve. Death is never easy, loss seems to grow forever within us. Perhaps it is our way of preserving the past.

But, your imagery also tells me that there was once some great connection and that the person that is now missing made an impact. The joined puddles and the ripples. The ripples are what we will remember. And the living face and heart and how they touched us and others.

Even when the grief threatens to descend . There is always the great book of memory to draw us back toward beauty.

Maybe my review is a bit off track, but this is where your words took me just now.

Great impressionistic work, Jacob.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

never off track, Eilis...to me, poetry is how it speaks to the reader...but spot on...death is not easy but better to celebrate the life than mourn the death.
thank you for your words here...
j.