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The Sympathy of Sleep
Your weight used to peel as an egg,
soft and rolling
against the bare of my shoulders,
and we chased it--
feet damp in the garden.
We were the dreamers,
flirting with the sleeper's palm,
opening our eyes to another sunrise.
But these nights
I have lived like the dead,
wearing your dry bones as a hood.
Your blood is a warm drape
against my hardened back,
as your lids flutter and collapse.
It is as it is.
You still carry your faith in parentheses,
as you walk, and walk, and walk,
afraid,
so afraid of me.
A light from another room
is as it should be,
and a sigh is as it never was,
only a heavy breath,
a cold cloud's blow that hovers
and suspends me.
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I see the egg as a metaphor for the birth of an idea, a belief, a concept about life. The tragedy is when these two people that love/like each other discover they are different and hold apposing beliefs--one stronger and more powerful than the other.
“You still carry your faith in parentheses,
as you walk, and walk, and walk,
afraid,
so afraid of me.”
This is what I heard, and the turning point for me were those lines from the poem. The one that is afraid has built walls (parentheses) around his or her beliefs or an identity to hold onto. They are fragile like an egg. Someone seems to feel threatened but not the poet. |
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Striking imagery and mood. There is something about the mood of this poem
that I can particularly relate to. I am also feeling sleepy now, but
I don´t think it´s just that. |
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Comment by: Dakota - 2008-02-04 06:36
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You have a gift - a way of expressing the world in such vivid and unusual ways. You manage to show different aspects of emotion and twist the reader this way and that. I surrender to your words and respect your gift.
I think you might enjoy missymegs writing (her link is on my readers page).
Thank you again for your beautiful words). |
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This is so strong up until 'as your lids flutter and collapse'
and then it kind of loses me.
I'm not someone who needs to 'understand' a poem or to know what every word means but it seems the imagery fades a bit at the end and I really want the second half to deliver on the promise of the first. |
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Comment by: Stephie - 2007-11-14 13:00
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"and we chased it--
feet damp in the garden.
We were the dreamers,
flirting with the sleeper's palm"
I will never be able to let you see how much imagery this hold for me. And then....we get the
'But these nights
I have lived like the dead,
wearing your dry bones as a hood."
And I am sad. I love the way you can make a poem turn from something so beautiful and promising into something so desolate. They way you put the reader in your palm and turn them they way you want to requires so much control, which you do indeed have over your readers. |
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