my silence, the map of me
we both wear time on our face, proud of place
and days spent wandering
through little more than transparent
pages
nothing is smooth these days, sandpaper tongue
and hollowed out heel,
creaking bones in a cold-frame
of continuous growth
and gathered
seed
brittle remnants poking out from all
the wrong places and the crinkle crackle
of your presence
keeps me rooted in this place
of tender spring and brutal winter
as together we weather
broken shovel
and harvested
need
.
.
A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month. Day 20
I’m participating in NaPoWriMo, and Writer’s Digest Poem a Day Challenge.
.
.
April 20th, 2015 at 9:28 am
such tenderness tucked into these words. i read the first 4 lines aloud, more than once, before continuing on. nothing is smooth, and yet.
April 20th, 2015 at 12:50 pm
This just aches with well-earned years together. Very good and visual.
April 21st, 2015 at 1:01 pm
Really not a word here that doesn’t whisper to that part of the mind that lives in the heart. We endure, like all things of this earth, as long as we can.