deepundergroundpoetry.com
Other Bones
What is her name
that one in your bed
draped in familiarity
as I drag thoughts across linen
as I picture a chicken carcass
forming shelters in the kitchen
where your children live.
Why does she not sing here
of all the words you never speak,
of her fingers and feet and face,
her vacant stories beating.
I look at my own gold ring
a fundamental hinge
between my love and I
wondering
if she showered with yours,
permitted it to dance naked
where nobody watched
her ankles
glowing against the aga,
an iron mausoleum housing
a sleek dagger of betrayal,
that sorceress of mundanity
made fire in the streetlight.
Does she unravel her misery
feeding charred skin to the dogs,
her dreams kicking hours
against your barren hearth,
her hair a plaited rope
how she howls inside
your graveyard heart
such cold, absent
stonework.
Published 4th May 2024
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4th May 2024 5:06pm
Anonymous
- Edited 8th Jan 2025 8:45am
4th May 2024 6:07pm
<< post removed >>
Anonymous
- Edited 14th Jun 2024 7:45am
5th May 2024 8:14am
<< post removed >>
5th May 2024 11:58am
Whoa. There is a lash is here, that just tiptoes up to reproach but never really crosses the line. The rhetorical questioning feels like it’s meant to be a mirror to the subject.
As for the subject, you have a whole cast in the narrative which makes this a hella-interesting read.
Your title and the two implied pieces of bone imagery, the chicken carcass, to symbolize the home and children, and the empty chest to symbolize a wife, and the other bones… you open brilliantly to what that references
I assumed the former bone image was wife based on the ring imagery. Which was luxurious.
In that you brought you and an husband into the play as an example of perhaps your ideal and let picture of a ring, sensual and carefree, deteriorate into something trapped and tragic. We meet this character midway. She is not the person in the bed.
But the opening with the title. As I said before, opens like a soft lash. And carries out.
Beautifully expressed.
As for the subject, you have a whole cast in the narrative which makes this a hella-interesting read.
Your title and the two implied pieces of bone imagery, the chicken carcass, to symbolize the home and children, and the empty chest to symbolize a wife, and the other bones… you open brilliantly to what that references
I assumed the former bone image was wife based on the ring imagery. Which was luxurious.
In that you brought you and an husband into the play as an example of perhaps your ideal and let picture of a ring, sensual and carefree, deteriorate into something trapped and tragic. We meet this character midway. She is not the person in the bed.
But the opening with the title. As I said before, opens like a soft lash. And carries out.
Beautifully expressed.
Anonymous
- Edited 8th Jan 2025 8:45am
5th May 2024 3:22pm
<< post removed >>
7th May 2024 10:55am
A tragic depth written and I wonder what happens when the shit hits the fan in this home.
