Giving Up

Loneliness lays her finger

on the nape of my neck

and the chill seeps in from there

she opens the book of photographs,

set upon my lap, her arms

around me like we are past lovers

photos smell of dust and generations,

and though they are not that old,

they have faded and cracked

around the edges

she points to each one

and she uses her magic

to make me feel again

what it was like to live as that self

the love and the loss

the grief and the gray

tears and celebrations

so many that are gone

only dust generations now

photos turning white

in an alchemical process on the page

she likes it when I hurt

she wants to taste the salt

that pours from my body

she delights in my losses,

my impotent rage

the flail of my fingers

she laughs and laughs

as I dive headfirst into the numb

she is one cold b***h

but I am learning something of value…

I am never really alone

at least she always returns

with her photo album

I guess that’s what the kids call

“giving up.”

Reviews

[R.E. Ray]

Damn, JR, this one has a sharp sting on the back on the neck and travels through the body. As a genealogist and keeper of the family photos, I found so much familiarity with the references here.

As you've written though, photos also bring back the bad, and it's not always obvious in the images. Sometimes even the smiles in the pics lie. Of course, we also see things that don't exist, sometimes harsher images created by people in our past. And, the kids see through everything, and their young age has kept them frank and honest. This is raw but another genuine piece of fine writing, JR.

[JR]

I'm still on the fence with this one... I like the metaphor and where it's going, but I'll probably play around with the end a little. When I'm by myself in the evenings, I end up thinking of my past to write poems and such... I think that's the feel I was going for here. Never alone, because I'll always have my past to trace through.

[R.E. Ray]

I understand everything you've said here, JR. Though often alone physically, I'm surrounded my much goodness in my past and present.

As for edits, I've found three days make my poems better. I'll write one night and spend time the following two days thinking and editing. We often sharpen our thoughts after we see them on paper or the screen.

[JR]

That's a good tool, man. I think I'll try giving these all a three day bath and see what comes out. Appreciate all your advice.