In The Garden Of Her Bones~

I know I can go back

I simply know it

because . . . .

 

my skin remembers the stroke of midnights

on a path filled with well dressed roses

and poppy gourds shaking blue dust on the inside of their cheeks

coloring my iris with every blink of my many eyes

 

my ribs remember the texture of juniper bushes

in a cross brush on crawling knees

through the brambles to the cedar door

with brass latches

 

I had found the key tucked under my voice box

one night, in notes my windpipe wept in striations

against the tapestry of wild men

embroidered through a stone hall

 

I had followed the piano keys floating with pollen seeds

across an indigo sky, to the forgotten door

where my key bent tiny particles inside metal

and unhinged another world, another time

 

I know I can go back

I simply know it

because . . . .

 

my palms remember the marble skin of Boy

the glass transparency of his eyes

how he lay there wound in vines

in a coffin of violets, wearing a masculine version of my face

 

my hips remember the strong hands of my personal Pan

bent into my shoulders, his lute echoing off the bone walls of the garden

as he coaxed my tragedy of being alive another day

from between my floating ribs

 

I had found Pan years before, sewn into the leather spine of an old book

he had come loose with little coaxing of my marmalade fingertips

licking every drop from my aristocratic nails

following me back into my canopy of silks where he became a part of my frame

 

I know I can go back

backward with a song

a key

a boy tucked tightly in the nest of my sacral nerves

because I have never truly left the secrets of my garden

and Pan tells me that

to go forward

one must always go back

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

copyright:2011vssmd/amusemusepress

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Author's Note

for Kerry's Sunday Challenge #4 (The secret Garden)
http://www.writerscafe.org/contests/KERRY%27S-Sunday-Challenge-%234/13943/

Reviews

[Robin]

there are places , places of magic , places of healing , places of memories , and through your words , you guide us through this place of amazement , following the music of the curious heart , in wide-eyed wonder across this lush expanse , unveiling the secrets of this special garden ~

[Aidz]

I found this quite beautiful Selene, crafted with a well worn quill, a journey of rememberance and the last stanza fuken wicked to say the least

[TK]

For me when I read poetry, I realize the feelings I get and and it takes me to a place...but I never feel it's like a story like this one is. It's everything: emotional, visualizing...Great job!

[asdarkeyesclose]

love all the imagery and the textures of this poem, the freedom and the feeling I was reading a poet with oceans of creativity, stunning.

[Ruth]

Amazing!
To go back is to know such depths with you....to times of mysticism and intrigue...wow!
Selene, an absolutely brilliant piece!
xx

[Haim Kadman]

"a boy tucked tightly in the nest of my sacral nerves

because I have never truly left the secrets of my garden

and Pan tells me that

to go forward"

You amaze time and again with your incredible imagination and you unique metaphors!

[ice]

The smoke that's fog parts--I see her
Always young, always beautiful..
She is speaking her life to herself
Repeating for future remembering,
And I am caught in that same spell
As she takes me back with her
To her secret garden..
Letting me visit through her words.

[Kerry O'Connor]

Oh this is just superb work! I was totally mesmerized by the story, and the consummate skill of the story-teller, who can wind the threads of fantasy and reality together, 'til one becomes the other. There is just so much to touch: the petals of roses, the key, the statue of a pagan boy, and the memories spun to faerie tale.
Since I'm in love with beautiful gardens and flowers, these lines have been etched on my bones and I've had a 'wish-I-had-written-them' moment:

my skin remembers the stroke of midnights
on a path filled with well dressed roses
and poppy gourds shaking blue dust on the inside of their cheeks

The only way back is the key to memory's door, and who would bravely dare to turn it in the lock?

Thank you for entering your work in the Sunday Challenge #4

[Celeste21]

This is aesthetic and enchanting. Do you look like your father Selene? One of your statements in the poem made me think that.

[SilentVerses]

'how he lay there wound in vines in a coffin of violets, wearing a masculine version of my face' Adore these lines, as he lay wound in vines you words wind round each other in an endless loop of devotion, they compliment each other with their metaphoric meaning and imaginative description, flowing from your fingertips you have bought to life the desire of a nature born passion. Sensual seduction lies within the petals of your flowers and the ripeness of your writing throws a tasteful light to your talent, beautifully written with a flawless style that wraps its way round the words.

[gothicchica]

the begginings good i only red that part