33879402735_73c9d87faf_kThere exist still
people who were born when the world
like a split fig, bequeathing aubergine center
was half the size
in a fabled time when
individuals could be appreciated
for more than their overt strip-tease
hot and pulsing on flashy poles oiled by media
my grandmother
with her perfect straight teeth
and flossy hair refusing to be tamed
called a beauty in her day
would never have held up now
a corn maiden left to rot in untended field
days then, of gentle reproaching and
beguiling unknown
how intoxicate to consider, what you cannot reach
where now, less possesses such mystery
in its hoard of foil
than generations guarding jailers keys to reaching secrets
you could think all your life you were set
in one direction like weather vane, divining nature
and upon the death-bed of your elders, find out
nothing you rolled in your palm, was true
not even the dice you flung impatiently forward
for now we have proof
and proof is not
like a closed oven door
raising cake or bread
proof can rob us of dreaming
and those imprecisions and improvision
making fantasies stick like early
peas fattened against their husk
now the only fantasy
is waking up to become someone else
soon they will have us inhabiting machines
thinking ourselves free
maybe the irony will be
in those metal cases our brains
will grow mercurial wings
we are after all, rather fickle things
thinking ourselves to immortality
as Icarus searched to quench
his melting dissolution
I don’t share this ache to overcome my nature
it is my wish to lay me down and sleep
fertilizing the next seed
so when they say eat your greens
if you do, you may be the one in six to reach triple digits
I secretly chew and spit into black soil
preferring the liquor of a shorter candle
if I lived that long
nothing of the world I once loved
would remain
Buddhists say
live in the moment, not past, nor future
but I am a backward bespeckled girl
with a tilted womb and trigger finger
I am a girl who was partially born
with patched lazy eye and pigeon toe feet
I inherited bunions from my father who
stole them from his grandmother
she was blind with cataracts and still able
to see clearly
don’t live in the city, she chided him
the country boy who sought
museums on sunday’s instead of church
you’ll always be lonely, she prophesied
and he was
staring out windows at tall buildings
with long faces, void of harmony
whilst I leaned more toward my ancestors
who tilled fecund earth with prematurely calloused hands
finding peace in silent prose press of peat
to nourish encroaching tides of meaningless
gabled society can bring
from my mother I gained
some wit and spark
but also the propensity to climb inside myself
so far I didn’t know how to trust
and when it rains and the weather shifts
its turbulence
my head aches with clamoring change
an internal disturbance like children
playing band with pots and pans
it was always the habit of myself
to disbelieve the town crier
hefting his false bell
handing out sugar for the children
and pills for heavy-lidded adults
back in time I stood
warming my small hands against radiators
gloves wet from snow thawing
capture of damp wool in sticky air
the psychiatrist said
did you come here alone and you are only twelve?
I wanted to tell him
how many times I learned the way forward
without hands or trace
but some truths are best kept
behind your surface
he told me something I have never forgotten
it is the unkindness of those familiar
scars us worse of all
than any cut from a stranger
yet still
grief is a thing of feathers loosened by seizure
as rain will envelope sound, cutting off from usual ways
we tread deeper into ungulate symphony
he said; somebody should have loved you better
and I watched
my gloves shrink ever so slightly
as loose wool pulled taut in warmth
just as I
will lean into glassy light composed of grainy prism
away from those who string their netted words
higher and higher in hope of catching
it is summer now
the sprinklers in gardens come alive at night
catching mating dragonflies unaware
lightly slapping window panes as they arc
and fall
the cat will only seek to step
on cooling tiles when sun has set
and behind my eyes if you looked
a hundred cages stand emptied
where generations have flown
toward the sea and diminishment
I know
as I feel the tilt of myself shift like
long seated shadows will at last
urge toward darkness
the slightest ember could ignite
this fragile ballet of footprints and placement
as tables set for breakfast loam in nightfall
specters in deletion, we rise and consume
time and understanding
softly by
the spoonful

0 Replies to “Softly by the spoonful”

  1. Words you weave, are magical in their description.. And I am lost for words as to reply.. Except to say .. I am sure your grandmother would be extremely proud of you..
    Love and Blessings to you dear Candice. 💜💚💛

    1. Sue, thank you. I often wonder what she would have made of my writing, probably a lot of disapprobation but I’d like to think she’d also catch my drift as we were in many ways, alike. It’s difficult when you lose the only ancestors you were similar to, sometimes the world can be a forboding place without them. Thank you for your support and reading this.

          1. You’re very welcome. It’s okay not to be talkative. I mean, you hardly know me, right? 🙂
            Kindness – Robert.

  2. she would have loved you even more than I’m sure she already did. She might have been a big judgy on bits, but even there, i bet a lot less than you think as you got older. A lot of time that judginess is to protect youth from youthful mistakes. Regardless, this is a beautiful piece and it moved me deeply. as you always do. remarkable.

  3. I have always understood that it is in my blood to love you. When you speak about your past, your family, your origins, it is all too clear why I love you as I do. You are as bright as every star in the sky and something completely different unto yourself. I gravitate to you and your words…and I find my own voice in them more often than not. You’ve a singular talent in expressing deep thoughts that I’ve had..and the fact that you have them too reassures me that one day humanity can finally be one entity. one day, not now or the near future. We’ll understand who we are and where we come from. And things will get better.
    Much love, Shieldmaiden <3 <3 <3

    1. You beat me to it. And I could never follow up on that comment AND that poem without sounding like an illiterate ignoramus – so I won’t even try.
      I’m with you though. And I’m with Candice – I love you both 💜

    2. TY S&S (Sword & Shield), I’m not convinced of people, they’re so fickle it makes you want to run with the wolves, usually those who protesth loudest are the least sincere, something I cannot see before its too late. Too often I’m told things that so shining, I don’t believe them, in my heart, and soon enough they prove themselves tarnished and false. Why ever say something false if you can say nothing at all? Yet so often it’s demanded that we believe someone when they say ‘you’re my dearest friend you must believe me!’ when deep down we can see/feel/sense/smell the insincerity, maybe even before they consciously recognize it. This shuts me down like nothing else. Effort expended on others instead of those who count. How few really ultimately do. A small tribe. A very small tribe. You’re not alone in your thoughts.

  4. I like the progression of thoughts and emotions through the generations, the little asides between members of family from long ago. We are to an extent what all of those people made us, yet we are also ourselves alone.

  5. Hi friend
    I read the post and again think we are lost twins. I went to live with Grandparents at 14, it was a different would. How privileged to live with a much older generation. It’s funny..my life is more like Granny’s today. My mind clears when I’m tending to flowers or herbs, a feeling working on a computer can’t give me.
    🙂 M

  6. There is so much here, magical and epic–a journey through family and the past to the present and perhaps the future. My brain and eyes are too tired to comment more, but I really liked this. 🙂

  7. Blown away! Loss for words! Don’t know what to say other than you have written an amazing and powerful piece of art….or should I say a piece of your heart, which has touched mine and taken my breath away. I am in awe of your gift and blessed by you sharing it with us. Will read this one many times as you, once again, have taken us to places none of us have been before!

      1. I’ve been reading these comments and again see that you touch so many lives with your gifted ability to express your experiences with the human condition. Donc, mon adorable ami à plumes, vous devez continuer à répandre ces belles ailes et apporter la lumière qui vient de la compréhension partagée dans la vie de blesser les gens qui doivent savoir qu’ils ne sont pas seuls. Volez sur un bel oiseau et partagez le cadeau que, en partie, votre grand-mère a nourri. Je t’aime, Natalie 🙂 <3

  8. Holy shit!
    You almost made a tear drop out of my eye.
    I want to take your hand and you and I walk down a dirt road and pick blackberries and tell each other that we are ok and innocent and life can spin around us but we won’t care because we are skipping and spinning without a care in the world. That’s what this poem makes me want.

  9. Wowzer!!.. I see your muse has paid you a visit, lol… Absolutely magnificent!!
    So very glad you decided you still had more to say, because no one says it quite like you. And I can see your tribe agrees! ღ

  10. it was always the habit of myself
    to disbelieve the town crier
    hefting his false bell
    alas, he’s still ringing it, except now he’s tweeting it! – resonant stuff here, nice!

  11. I feel it in my bones that your grandmother would be so proud of you and everything you have accomplished and are expressing in your truth.
    Blessings to your Candice. 🙂
    Moving poetic masterpiece.

  12. You are absolutely on fire Feather…though it is so raw it is distressing… happiness writes white and that is an unfortunate truth.

  13. Wonderful piece of writing. But maybe “wonderful” is the wrong word – there is a bigness in “wonder,” and I feel like I should be speaking a little more quietly around poetry that reminds me of the introspection/prayerfulness of it all. Anyway, thank you.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.