long sweaters, color of grey clouds
wet wool beneath leggings and Docs
the way rain stayed in your hair and rinsed it of color
how you kept every love letter ever written
by all the little freckled girls who chased your dragon
we lay in your narrow bed
too small but small was what we were
breaking every splinter
in our roar and our mocking
you implanted a life
the telephone gave the news
my grandmother had given up pretending
perhaps the devil helped her
take that final breath
I couldn’t get a train
the rain the rain
you felt the despair of a boy who liked
the fur of drama
not the feel of fatherhood
her funeral was for two
the woman who had held me and said
what a pretty baby
when the rest backed away
like spectators unwilling to touch
and then there was the fetus
dry like a winter flower
red like a sore lover’s thighs
white like virgin snow covering
a crime
and the smell of damp
invading every corner of your room
ransacking hope
leaving in its wake
Smashing Pumpkins on low
sheets frayed and stained with youth
I did not return
you did not ask
it was accepted like an envelope is sealed
and black birds begin their fight
long after night has cast
her dark
This… you do best:
“the woman who had held me and said
what a pretty baby
when the rest backed away
like spectators unwilling to touch
and then there was the fetus
dry like a winter flower
red like a sore lover’s thighs
white like virgin snow covering
a crime
and the smell of damp
invading every corner of your room”
Description with every ounce of pain. You work words definitely, Candice.
You are so ridiculously talented. I devour your poems like they are poured from the loins of the gods.
Just tried to write on your blog and epic fail because couldn’t remember my Google account details but I wrote; you said I was talented but bloody hell have you seen your own work? Just read your poetry it’s beyond brilliant. I want to write with you, you’ve got me all jumping around shouting positive things at the photo of you now 😉
Just amazing, a year in high and low lights.
Pain resonates on every line. Oh 1995, was 20 years together for Carole and I, it was the 12th year of her severe MS, we had 18 more years……………
💓
1995 I was between two babies and I had just lost my grandmother too.
Birds of a feather … which would be a huge compliment for me as I adore you.
We have both ended up writers, so maybe our life stories are bound to have touched in some way 🙂
*brilliantly
Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
TheFeatheredSleep – Images of a year
Brilliant stuff!
Well written 👍
So well done – such painful memories
How you wrap the reader into another time line… always feels real, so first hand.
You are a master at moving readers through the delights & agonies of love & life. And you SO moved my heart with this poem . . . Thank you!
I don’t know how you do it…but I can feel every single word you share. 😍
the agony of double grief. the agony of youth misspent. the agony of betrayal of the heart.
… And I love the photo too!
Wow
Amazing imagery, and so much feeling.
Thank you so much I am so appreciative to you
Amazing poem.