Sunday 24 November 2013

Creation .

I am made of dirt-caked carrots from the backyard garden, 
            of scars that I can live with.

I am made of classic rock 
            on roadtrips with an old man. 

From the oceans push and pull, 
            missed curfews and long goodbyes. 

I am made of real maple syrup and Sunday comics, 
            of slammed doors and inaudible apologies.  
      
I am made from skinning-dipping in early May 
            with a boy who 'wasn’t right for me' 
                                               (he wasn’t). 

I am made of packed bags and packed houses, 
            and the restlessness that comes with staying now.  

From a phone call made across the world 
            that has bittered the taste of everything I’ve since known. 

I am made from still moments and negative space, 
            from the sound of steady breathing in a single bed for two. 

I am made of words that someone else has penned, 
            when no one knows me like a stranger. 

S.

8 comments:

  1. "From a phone call made across the world             that has bittered the taste of everything I’ve since known. "

    I know being changed deeply by something so seemingly insignificant. Life is crazy, is it not? Great writing, as usual.

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  2. As always S. you intrigue me with your writing.. deep and meaningful :)

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  3. I like your poetry. I like when a person is able to say so much with so little.

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  4. God, everything you write is perfect. If I could write half as well as you do I will be happy. Those last to lines are heaven.

    Em
    Tightrope to the Sun

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  5. your writing is so endearing. and you have fab taste in music. now i need to go back and read all that i've been missing, x

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  6. "when no one knows me like a stranger. "

    Love it, as usual.

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  7. I'm so glad I found your blog your writing is perfect!

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