Such Small Hands

From the fire we make clay,
from heartstrings: witnesses.
Palm-chapel filled with matches,

she’s drawing rings around
the windows, such small hands.
There’s nothing more heavy

than weight of mystery–
sun hardly glowing through haze
they try to convince us is sky

but we know the difference.
We just stopped caring when
dead fingers began to turn to pink

roses, trick us into falling, out
of necessity, but I should have
went a long time ago…

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5 thoughts on “Such Small Hands

  1. Just to get it out of the way, one nitpicky grammatical thing: Should “went” have been “gone?” (Grammatically it would be but I’m not sure if that was a deliberate stylistic choice.)

    I really like the imagery and the sense of movement through this. As always, I really love the way you use your line and stanza breaks. It’s actually something I had in mind a little bit on my most recent piece.

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    • To be honest, probably. However, in poetry there aren’t really grammatical rules anyone has to follow. That being said, I feel “went” implies so much more, a deeper hole of mystery and a sense of the unknown that “gone” does not evoke…. So I will say it was a stylistic intentional choice? 🙂

      I rely on enjambment to move my poetry and estranged sensations of scene and emotion, so use it all you can!!!!

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      • I’ve always been a big fan of enjambment, but you use it especially well and it creates a really interesting sense of tension between what the reader expects and what comes next, if that makes sense.

        Like

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