a heart
lives inside my tongue,
in my fingertips, pulses
through my pen
& i never know
what secret it will speak
just for the sake of singing it
& there i am,
left cleaning all that
unrepentant truth-telling
that can be messier
than a three-year-old
with fingerpaints
who has doodled your name
in smudges
over all the windows
in the house
just because
the sun striking those letters
will melt you, indelible & fused
into glass–no need to ask
who did it–
my fingerprints
are the evidence
spread over all this everything
in primary colors
Messier than fingerpaint, whew. Yes.
When I was teaching poetry at the uni – I was always on at the students to avoid cliches – this would have been the perfect poem to illustrate. I love the way you write.
Oh, Julie–thank you! blushing…
I second that.. I love the way you write woman. Seriously
Oh, gosh–you and Julie…two accomplished writers like you…I am thrilled you actually READ my stuff, let alone like it….thanks to you both!
Oh this one strikes a chord, and very well. Not a cliche to be found in this Susan, and I love the title to boot. I thank you for this.
You are most welcome–I am admitting to the existence of my inner child–I mean inner toddler–tonight!
Ah the familiar story. How old is your toddler?
I’mgonna say three, though sometimes she does lapse into those terrible twos
I hear you there.
Now and again someone makes this work seem easy. Great poem.
Oh, thank you–I had fun & am glad you enjoyed.
oh dear. it honestly sounds quite lovely.
Jane, thank you–sometimes you have no choice but to let the inner toddler wreak havoc.
love, it, girl. love the child as an extension of one as both progeny and as a child-self, love the fingerprints and melting and colors. you become your lover.
E, thanking you much! you caught that transformation, too…
Very well spoken sometimes we don’t even bother to hide the evidence it is like a dare
hahaha–you are right, and think I have left the evidence where it is most visible, on those windows…
So well written
Thanks, Green!
messier than a three year old with fingerpaint, ha. surely truth and its telling can be that….and i like your fingerprints being all over it in the end as well…
Oh, thank you, Brian! Sometimes truths can be that–messy and unrepentantly so
colors, images of youthfulness, zest and freshness subtly blended with some deep reflections – beautiful!
Thanks, Noel.! Emotions can indeed lead to some messy, freewheeling expression–which in and of itself has to be simply enjoyed.
that first stanza about not knowing it will give you is how poetry and creative writing works for me. I also think cliches are lazy, even though I do speak in cliches but when I write, I stay away from them.
Great title!
Joe–thank you! That is precisely how my process works–I am given a line and who knows where it will go from there?
For me, painting is a bit like going back into the deepest joys of childhood. And, I finally set up my mini-studio!
Ooo–what fun!
This is especially delicious:
& there i am,
left cleaning all that
unrepentant truth-telling
that can be messier
than a three-year-old
with fingerpaints
who has doodled your name
in smudges
over all the windows
in the house
always lleaving me plaintive.
you naturally make me smile~ because you’re beautiful and tender and sensitive despite life’s callousness ~ Thank you dear.
The sensibility is evident in your words
Thanks, Ken!
In times like this, I don’t have the words to describe your poetry, Susan.