Under my window, a clean rasping sound
The child is dying, and there’s nothing
I can do, except scream like the child
Is the child me? I wonder
Am I dying? Maybe so
The cabin room is hot
The planet is an oven
All our worst fears always
Come true, it’s true
My father taught me this
A day before he died
At his kitchen table
When we found him,
God laughed in my face
And my mind split in two
This, too, is very true
The child, under my window,
Is grating and breathing heavily
The child is clearly dying
And I am dying, too
Author’s Note: I’ve been feeling weird and unsettled lately, so much of my poetry has been abstract and doesn’t make much sense. Forgive me if it’s not your kind of thing. I’ve been using prompts and just following my thoughts and the images that come into my mind, which are usually a bit dark.
The first line of this poem comes from Seamus Heaney’s poem “Digging.” I think I’ll start using that prompt idea a bit more, incorporating a line from some of my favorite poets. I got the suggestion from Poets & Writers’ The Time is Now.
I think this is a fantastic poem.
Thank you, Jennifer! I get a little self-conscious about the abstract stuff. I also guess my dad is still on my mind a lot when I let my thoughts wander. I did, indeed, feel like my mind split in two when he passed and I also blamed God for a while. Thanks for reading 🙂
I’m a big fan of the abstract.
So sorry to hear. Grief attacks every bit of us. I understand the place you found yourself in.
Thanks Jennifer 🙂
Oh wow ! this is a beautiful poem . Hits hard
Thank you!
The best words often come from a place of deep emotion. We often misjudge this as confusion, but it’s the creative bliss.
Wonderful poem. 🙂
Thank you! I agree. Despair can often be turned into something beautiful, if we let it.
Nice
Thanks 😊