Part 08

As if redemption comes from one flash of lightning? From
one great loss or one unexpected reward? Not in a story
like this. You learn slowly, painfully, the skin you are
trying to moult ripped unwillingly off your body, the scars,

years later, still burning red when the night descends. You
try not to see differences. A better love. A better wound. A
better prayer. You try not to colour and label them. You learn
to compensate. To string rope bridges across the void. To

count footsteps in the dark. To cross over to the other side.
Until the face in the looking glass is no longer yours. Until you
no longer know what you buried deep inside the matryoshka
dolls. You never grow up. You never rebuild. You rename the

differences. You recolour them. You make excuses for the
void. You reimagine yourself. You watch the storm from
inside a house without mirrors. Silver lines of rain holding up
the sky. The better wound. The better skin. The better pain.

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21 thoughts on “Part 08

  1. So intense and powerful, almost impossible to separate out favourite lines – but these particularly caught my attention: ‘To string rope bridges across the void. ‘ ‘You reimagine yourself. ‘ I love what you are doing with the enjambment across the verse breaks. I see that it has a point, not just a showy device – telling me that there is a continuity between each lurch forward across the gaps.

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    1. Thank you. I wrote a version of this poem a few days ago, ripped it up and started over. That’s when the verses arranged themselves. Also when I read it aloud, the breaks slowed it down and somehow it began to sound like what I wanted to say. Glad it worked!

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  2. “To string rope bridges across the void.” The line seems to be the bridge to carry the story further. May be “Silver lines of rain holding up
    the sky.” is a better space to be in?

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  3. I still do that sometimes. And I enjoyed reading it here.
    For me, it felt sooo good that she moved away to West
    Texas with her new husband. But now they are back near town here. That’s okay, but not okay with some. My second is entirely different, not that the first was bad or anything. She was and is very nice, just a little gullible.
    ..

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  4. I feel this would fit well in my current collection/writing on the travelogue of aging. I really like the image of the nesting doll. So many stages and so much forgetting.

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  5. I wonder if making excuses for the void is what brings the inevitable fall. Since no matter how many blinders or justifications, the hole won’t vanish through wishing. Thank goodness for bridges…

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  6. This is the ragged edge of recovery. It doesn’t go by as quickly as a montage or look as good as an instagram post. It’s making do until you’ve convinced yourself its enough.

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