Thread: Bald (Language)

I do apologize for my lack of participation on the boards as of late. I've been going through many things. Anyway, this is a poem I wrote last month and completely forgot about until now.


Bald (for the last version of you that I touched)

Today I wanted wings. Today you said you’d make them.
We’re sucking gardens, rolling in the hiss
of bees, while I decide if I hate them.
Today I didn’t.

It was a short breath,

then I watched you birth twenty butterflies,
the shudder of their flight, the quaking
of your lashes on my ear. It was a choked breath.
I severed grass blades. You didn’t shave my head
then, but I waited

and pretended to love you anyway.

And fragmented hissing and your violent hand,
crisp antennae, thorax flaking,
then I’m the one that’s brittle and fucks while brittle.
You’re pointing me like this is the only place
I’ll ever go.

I never said I wanted to live here.

I just like counting butterflies and thinking
about how many wings it’d take to keep me
from shaking, shaking, how I want them
curved like your spine.

It was fire.

Your fingers caught the butterflies like silk, and
I could hear each go to sleep in the quiet snap
of an ember, and you never stopped
yourself.

Dust blowing from my palms with remains of my hair,

then shaking, shaking,

shaking…

I absolutely love the second to last stanza.

Today I wanted wings. Today you said you’d make them.
We’re sucking gardens, rolling in the hiss
of bees, while I decide if I hate them.
Today I didn’t.

What an opener! Pure gold, that.

the quaking
of your lashes on my ear.

I love this detail.

And fragmented hissing and your violent hand,
crisp antennae, thorax flaking,
then I’m the one that’s brittle and fucks while brittle.

This too is awesome.

You’re pointing me like this is the only place

I’ll ever go.

You're not the type of person, I don't think, to inadvertently leave a word out, so I'm going to work under the assumption that you did not mean to say, "You're pointing at me." But this line does stand out from the others in a not-so-good way because the reader is expecting an "at" to be there, and then it's not. I'm not saying that you should put an "at" in there if it's not what you intended to say, but maybe you could massage this line a bit so it's less jarring.

I never said I wanted to live here.
I just like counting butterflies and thinking
about how many wings it’d take to keep me
from shaking, shaking, how I want them
curved like your spine.

This is an exceptionally good stanza.

Dust blowing from my palms with remains of my hair,

then shaking, shaking,

shaking…

At first I wasn't on board with repeating "shaking" three times, but the more I read it, the more I like it. It's haunting. Haunting is good, IMO.

I think you really hit the ball out of the park with this one. I like this very much. Thanks for sharing.

Some nice individual lines and interesting, surreal imagery, but as a whole the poem felt impenetrable and did not resonate.

I like it. I'm not certain what it means, or why "Bald" but yes some amazing butterfly images.