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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
February 2, 2011
A strong example of the power of a narrative poem, there is something deeply unsettling about To My Brother by ~sealed-sweets.
Featured by Halatia
Suggested by antilocapridae
Literature Text
My mother tended her first yield tender,
with slender fingers interlocked in a cradle
placed over her ripe stomach,
the calluses raised from farm labor
serving as little pillows for her son.
The first time she felt the quake underneath her flesh—
the little feet,
the kicking feet that would someday hold up a man—
she whispered his name,
Masahiro, Masahiro.
The son rising in the east to reflect her soul.
But dawn broke too early,
stretching its scarlet, wet arms over her underwear,
spitting defiance in a rush of water soaking her feet.
On the way to the hospital,
she clutched her splitting stomach,
screaming and pleading to the impatient babe,
Too soon, too soon!
But he was too much Icarus;
too eager to reach the light.
Finally, when the doctors extracted what was inside her,
she heard no sound of a baby boy crying,
only a beeping monitor tracking the beat of an incessant heart,
her heart—
alone.
Let me see him.
With cold hands,
the doctors presented the spoiled fruit, the bloody pulp,
and she, like Daedalus, gazed upon her melted son,
filling the hollows of her body,
his fetal grave,
with remorse.
Twenty-five years later, on melancholy nights,
when the rain runs tear tracks down window panes,
when his kicking feet retrace phantom paths,
when his name echoes in her womb,
she says to me, without ever meeting my eyes,
"I am happy to have a daughter."
with slender fingers interlocked in a cradle
placed over her ripe stomach,
the calluses raised from farm labor
serving as little pillows for her son.
The first time she felt the quake underneath her flesh—
the little feet,
the kicking feet that would someday hold up a man—
she whispered his name,
Masahiro, Masahiro.
The son rising in the east to reflect her soul.
But dawn broke too early,
stretching its scarlet, wet arms over her underwear,
spitting defiance in a rush of water soaking her feet.
On the way to the hospital,
she clutched her splitting stomach,
screaming and pleading to the impatient babe,
Too soon, too soon!
But he was too much Icarus;
too eager to reach the light.
Finally, when the doctors extracted what was inside her,
she heard no sound of a baby boy crying,
only a beeping monitor tracking the beat of an incessant heart,
her heart—
alone.
Let me see him.
With cold hands,
the doctors presented the spoiled fruit, the bloody pulp,
and she, like Daedalus, gazed upon her melted son,
filling the hollows of her body,
his fetal grave,
with remorse.
Twenty-five years later, on melancholy nights,
when the rain runs tear tracks down window panes,
when his kicking feet retrace phantom paths,
when his name echoes in her womb,
she says to me, without ever meeting my eyes,
"I am happy to have a daughter."
Literature
on not knowing.
this road was ten miles long.
i traveled barefoot.
Literature
The Loss
I can't think I can't breathe I don't know where I'm going or where I've been or If I'm really here at all is this some sort of dream am I dead am I here does it even matter any more? I'm falling, falling, falling, falling I've hit rock bottom I've found a shovel I'm digging, I'm digging, I'm digging and I've hit gold and I've found riches but I don't need them there's no point in them so I'm still digging and I've hit oil and I'm covered in thick oil and it's dark and it disgusting and I can't breathe and I can't see and I can't do anything because I'm still digging and the oil is filling up my lungs and I can't breathe and I'm still digging
Literature
Whining
My poems don't have time for me anymore.
They talk like there are
better places to be
real people to see,
like life's a movie worth watching,
but I'm not on the screen.
At least I can still sing.
Well,
I have a cold right now.
Oh well.
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
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4th from the last line, should i use ghostly "paths" or "pasts"?
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update: 2/2/11
Thank you so much for all your wonderful comments and critiques. I wasn't expecting to ever earn a DD. I've been carrying the concept for this poem around in my head for over a year, and I'm so flattered, so bewildered, so indescribably elated by all the support. Thank you again <3
And thanks ~antilocapridae for recommending me!
4th from the last line, should i use ghostly "paths" or "pasts"?
-----
update: 2/2/11
Thank you so much for all your wonderful comments and critiques. I wasn't expecting to ever earn a DD. I've been carrying the concept for this poem around in my head for over a year, and I'm so flattered, so bewildered, so indescribably elated by all the support. Thank you again <3
And thanks ~antilocapridae for recommending me!
© 2011 - 2024 sealed-sweets
Comments192
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This is superb stuff. Thank you for a chance to read it!