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. 



  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.

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

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

  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.

    Tightrope to the Sun

  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

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

    Love it, as usual.

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