November 21, 2016

  • Putting it Together.

    ABUSE.

    I am piecing this shell together, of broken thoughts and
    dislocated spirit. One at a time, I bring each piece together
    but see that there is no glue that can fix these pieces without
    an obvious seam.

    This here, is supposed to be a hard muscular organ, with four
    chambers. It is paper thin now, and the walls flutter with an
    anxious fibrillation of dread, and muted rhythms that tell tales
    of another time, and another life.

    I think I need to bring a piece of smile and staple it to this side
    of my face. It doesn’t really matter if the eyes don’t smile. Just
    so that there is some semblance to the skeletal shell of my being.

    No matter I live in the lap of this earth, I will return to it, with patches
    of mended efforts, of half a smile, of the slow drum beat of paper thin
    chambers of the heart–

    and the broken bones and the bruises
    will come together, each in their own fashion, and be recognized
    by The Potter once again.

    ©ZSA June 2015.

Comments (3)

  • I've been trying to think of a way to bring comfort to you during these troubling times. Instead, I think YOU'VE brought comfort to ME, as I struggle to find a way to smile. That's what we all have to do. And if the seam is visible as we self-mend, sobeit.

  • A wonderful poem! It embodies all the fears of a failing body and the ravages of living and yet holds up the hope of redemption and restoration. Perfectly pieced together - without a visible seam by the poet!! Brava!

  • That is me when I have A-Fib.

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