Rebirth Redux
Morgue File
Clarita
Rebirth Redux
I have no feeling left
fingers to thumb flayed
like snakeskin left in the sun.
When the horizon took me
I sang of its dissolution
packing oranges in an old suitcase
bound in spit and steel.
When I return, I will bend my thumb
back to meet wrist,
feel its pulse
and move on
to sleep in the night air.
First published in Total Eclipse Poetry and Prose, Issue 1, June 2019
Posted for Poets United
Fascinating, in that you narrate this without divulging the background situation, and yet I completely accept its truth as if there is no mystery. I think it's beautifully written, and somewhat reminiscent of Cohen in the use of imagery which should be startling yet feels absolutely right.
ReplyDeleteThank you Rosemary--I am not sure where this one came from--but I felt it as a hopeful thing
DeleteI am not sure that I understand the context, not sure what is literal or what is figurative, but as Rosemary said it is beautifully written. Always good to see you!
ReplyDeleteI am not sure either Mary! Sometimes, I just accept it as it comes--and pray it means something
DeletePowerfully writen, Audrey. At first, it took me to the prompt at Toads, of an apocalyptic future.
ReplyDeleteI should go look at the prompt Sherry--thank you!
DeleteLike the others, I am puzzled about the context of this and am a bit mystified about the bending of the thumb back. But it is well written.
ReplyDeleteI suffer from insufficient context sometimes--I thing this is one of those--but I still get something from the ending one one thing and the beginning of another from this--
DeleteA powerfully rendered piece that struck me, as well, as hopeful.
DeleteWhen I return, I will bend my thumb
ReplyDeleteback to meet wrist,
feel its pulse
and move on
Perhaps to wait for some signals on what best to do. It helps sometimes to review the situation, Audrey!
Hank
I remember reading a priest saying forgiveness requires a deep acknowledgement of the pain suffered -- you grieve and forgive, not forgive and forget -- so too here there is no rebirth without reliving what has died. The first image is extraordinary, puzzling, almost dada -- vicious wound as caul -- and down we go, traveling to the underworld whistling its song (that suitcase, its dread cargo!). And the return is back through the wound, shedding it like ... snakeskin ... but alive and moving on into "sleep into night air" which is (to me) the sane iteration of the old drowning. A fine 3 steps in darkness.
ReplyDeleteThere is an intensity and force in this poem - very powerful
ReplyDeleteI feel a bit of an alien thing here but aren't we all? Great imagery.
ReplyDeleteThis was a poem i read a few times... I think the rebirth in the last stanza... is one of painfilled heartbeats.
ReplyDeleteThis is deeply touching, Audrey! ❤️ I could sense the pain mingled with hope in your words.
ReplyDelete