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Published by Sarita Baker-Brown

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Published by: Sarita Baker-Brown on Jan 27, 2011
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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the death of things i hold inside my heart like little jewelsthose curls of yours sweaty and clinging to your facewhen sleeping, that cupid bow mouth which trembled at a slightor pursed tightly when concentrating on the taming of your newestkitten. your laughter which is nowadays too spare. The depths there in yourheart held up to lights interiour and fine.your gorgeous mind. your hands with all their fine fingers, graceful asa swan.some depth of wanting that drives you onward and despite the ides of Marchkeeps time with you.but the things that ache, the wounds that tear you even in your joy, which of thesecame by my hand, unknowing or unintended, i cannot count.your wide and tender heart which can gloss to stone in a glancethe sizemic thunders of your rages, impotent, grief stricken and unknowableby me. . Your fine mind. your eagle eye, that darkness that succumbs youthe unfairness of the wheels of fate, the hate the love the abysmal howls youhurl at aninpenatrable universe of late. These chase my dreams down in the night and i awakefrightened for your solitary war.you frighten me with all the judiciary bent, a rage as ominous as anOld Testament God, with none of his mercy. This takes me by storm and crushes the weak breath. This is a kind of death , see there it is. There is a phantom who sits by my bed and gloats.i feel as disposible as a razor blade, dulled on your disapprovals. I who am

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Robin Rule added this note
i've tried to be a follower, but i haven't seen my pic, just know i will be reading yr work.
Robin Rule added this note
so that entry was about the feeling of the poem & this is about the poem's craft. it is obvious you have studied well to write with such depth & beauty. i suspect we will remain poetic comrades for some time to come. we carry the same flag.
Robin Rule added this note
sarita, it's so interesting to read the other side of the situation. yr daughter won't speak to you, my mother wont speak to me. (I don't know why, except for one lie told by a cousin to her as if I told it and did not). i see how she may hurt. but i suspect you have far more depth of heart than mine, who is shallow.
beatriZ added this note
Beautifully written!
Siobhan added this note
wow ,reminds me of acouple of loved poems one Requiem for a friend (RILKE)and a line i like from keats (I think)do not go quietly into the night.but mostly its the story in your face and between the lines,life acres and masses of life,awoke me from my slumber :)
Daniel Essman added this note
sarita, your poem ends in "maybe." your lines intimate "memoir" to me more than poem...take my opinion for whatever it's worth....the song is you to yourself about not wanting to be resigned, but the whole story is larger...maybe?
postagedue added this note
The heart, the mind, the death card , the fool card. When do we know to fly or fall is the question. But everyday we put our feet on the floor and begin again. Excellent!
Irma added this note
Take it from here. There is a chance.

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