To Dust
One day, you will not
remember
my name.
You will say: there was this
girl.
And the first time I met
her, her hair
was pulled back and I saw
her
eyelashes, long and curling,
little butterfly wings.
When she walked into a room,
I
felt her presence in my fingertips.
One time I was sitting
across from her and
sunlight was pouring
in and there was a halo on
her hair and
she looked so
beautiful
that I could not help but
vomit
up my heart in front of her,
raw and pink and shiny,
lying there on the table
between us.
You will say: I remember
the way her name tasted in
my mouth, sweet
like honey it would get stuck
in my head – it ended
on a sound that reminded me
of
soaring.
You will feel the feather
light brushes
of these memories and you
will sit back,
your
tongue itching
to form the shape of my name
once more
and for a lingering second
it will bother you until
you shrug it off and the memories
float down to the floor,
settling
amongst the dust.
Hi Huneeya!
ReplyDeleteI really enjoyed your poem - visually, in terms of the rhythm you create and the wonderful images you sprinkle throughout.
I was wondering whether you are addressing this poem "To Dust" as your title suggests? Because it seems like you're addressing it to an actual person, as conveyed by lines such as "One time I was sitting across from her". Maybe make that clearer? Also sometimes I feel your images run the risk of sounding a little cliché - eg. a heart that is "raw and pink and shiny" and "feather light brushes". Maybe pick different images/descriptors?
I get what you are saying, Queenie, about the risk of sounding cliché, but I thought that, in a number of places, Huneeya seems to be "reclaiming" the clichés. Like in the section about the heart: yes, the heart may be "raw and pink and shiny," but it has also been vomited up, which lends it a unique quality in my eyes. I think that there is almost an idea of taking clichés and remaking them into something new; after all, they became clichés because they contained some relevant thought or image.
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