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jkaber
Judy K
United States, ME, Belfast

Words: 124
Access: Public
Comments: 7

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Crossing Over

your death
like a troll
hides beneath each moment
the quiet rolling stream of days
takes an ordinary route
lapping at the same solid stones
frisking the shore
bubbling occasionally
in brilliant sunlit eddies
there is wood to chop
the floor to sweep
books to read
but a time comes
when the baby sleeps
& my mind works
slowly at first
then faster & faster
circling wildly
on all the tiny details
of your illness
your legs trembling
your lips cracked & dry
your hair thin & wispy as a newborn's
the way the light fell in sharp slats
across your bed
the shadow of the bridge
sways above me
I grasp at weeds & young
branches as I am pulled down
into the violent whirlpool
of despair

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Comments  
Comment by: - 2006-05-03 16:30
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Very well captured-it reminded me so much of my parents deaths.
jkaber Comment by: jkaber - 2006-05-01 05:43
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D.-

There are actually more breaks than there appears to be by having words spread out across the page. I'm going to try editing it at work & maybe I will have more luck than at home with my mac.
denisedee Comment by: denisedee - 2006-05-01 04:08
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i'm not usually advocating stanza breaks, but in this case I think one after 'beneath each moment' / 'books to read'/and maybe one or two other places, would be give us time to pause and absorb. I felt rushed through this, and there's too much in the poem to rush.
hulshizer Comment by: hulshizer - 2006-05-01 03:52
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And death comes calling, and you can not help but be "pulled down
into the violent whirlpool
of despair". Nicely done.
Comment by: - 2006-05-01 03:45
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I like that you have been as generous- but selective in giving mundane detail some dynamic life-drive (phrases like frisking the shore)as in elaborating emotionally on the deathbed scene. Means you had the reader in your thoughts as much as subject and personal meaning to you. Like the cycle birth to death not being made pointed than the references to thin hair etc. You are a poet with a work-ethic.
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