I’m music poured
down an open throat
when the Irish ghost walk
their bottles across my blood.
There’s a whole lot of dying early,
dust, bodies in a cell, and carving
wood into fiddles so feet won’t
forget to dance.
The nail crawl of bullet tongues
carve hell into tiny pieces so mouths
can learn to nibble before they chew
their tongues into misery.
Every sorrow earns a blue note
to string enough pearls wisdom won’t
die in ears morgue trained to let
negative roost in the heart’s nest.
My bone thin hands steal
flesh from echoes so my limb
of the family tree can leaf words
where names will no longer bud.
the third stanza especially rings deep ~
ReplyDeleteThis is startlingly fabulous, Susie. Every stanza just knocks it out the park. Fine execution (with a very sharp blade).
ReplyDeleteWonderful writing... so dark, so sharp... the chewing of the tongue actually felt painful
ReplyDeleteHow can the ink howl without a train of chained ghosts? So ferally fine.
ReplyDeleteSuch sharp and striking imagery in this one, Susie! The third stanza particularly caught me.
ReplyDeleteThe first three stanzas here hit me like a brick, the ghosts in our blood that refuse to let us alone, that shape us with their white hands...and the conclusion shares the commonality of pettiness we each must defeat--or surrender to. Wise writing, Susie.
ReplyDeleteoh wow - the first stanza is haunting - and as Joy commented, this entire poem speaks of the fashioning of self, as the ancestors howl, shape, pour and flex - this is such a rich, evocative, powerful poem, from start to closing - and I'm reeling over the third. (hmm, dancing to the fiddle perhaps, odd pun slipped in) .... yeah, I just want to sit here and soak this in, like cold moss in a graveyard, unnerving, innervating and yet somehow comforting for the peace.
ReplyDeleteThis is bitter and caustic and stinging. I like it.
ReplyDelete"Every sorrow earns a blue note." I love the "wonder in her wings" line so much. Stellar writing, Susie. Loved it.
ReplyDeleteSuch a visceral chant, naming those ancient curses (that did not even know they were such) of self sabotage that howl in our bones and will, if we listen deep enough, allow us to howl our truth in poem.You have written many a poem that floored me but this...this is at the core of it all and so full of inspiration and truth that I might have to put my pen down for a day in salute.
ReplyDeleteThis is heart-wrenching and powerful, I especially like the last stanza
ReplyDelete"My bone thin hands steal
flesh from echoes so my limb
of the family tree can leaf words
where names will no longer bud." Wow!
Mmmm, how you (we) do indeed encompass it all!
ReplyDelete