(she spends) April’s Tuesdays

Massaging quotidian
heartaches and
down the kitchen sink,
clipping coupons from Nike’s wings
while lip-synching to gypsy notes
caught on the tails
of fast-moving clouds and
sipping salted spring
left behind in
other languages.
Drawing flowers
from rusted faucet drips
on smudged
granite dreams,
breathing deep
of coffee steam
and bleach while
ironing out
the imperfections
of pore and
past. Studying up
on forgetting.
for her
prime time
debut. Playing
barefoot and
dancing naked
and whispering
loudly the
no one wants
to hear and maybe
writing a

18 thoughts on “(she spends) April’s Tuesdays

  1. What gets me most about your poem is there seems a depth of despair through the details of being poorβ€”laboring through life with the scent of bleach occurring after the poison reference… along with details that burn, preceding the contemplation of writing a poem.

  2. I like the imagery as well, and wish you would take it a step further (or back?) and just let the images speak for themselves. Like instead of “smudged granite dreams” just “smudged granite” and let us decide what the image represents.

  3. I like this mixed bag of images and impresions, possible interpretations that go nowhere — just like the life I think about as I stand at the kitchen sink listening to the radio news of the world, the arts, war, death, poisons, painful memories, all dancing in whirligig fashion,a kaleidoscope.

  4. brian, Carl, thanks as always for dropping in and leaving a few jewels here… πŸ™‚

    dustus, you know, it’s funny– I hadn’t thought about poverty as a part of this until you mentioned it… and now I wonder how I could have missed it. subconscious cues, i guess… πŸ˜‰

    jenne, ayala, thanks. Confidence and freedom, but yes, also despair. April has a little of everything. πŸ™‚

    Valerie, thanks for the feedback. I like your suggestion, and especially in the particular example you cited– you’re right: it was the “smudged granite” that first presented itself, and I was left trying to fill in the “smudged granite”… what? maybe it could have been left to the individual reader to decide just as effectively.

    Ann, a kaleidoscope indeed. Nice analogy. Glad this spoke to you.

    Peace, all!

  5. “whispering loudly” I like that phrase because it gave me pause. It is that she doesn’t vocalize but the aforementioned actions speak volumes in spite of it.

    The additional “and maybe….” is even best because you did not link her poetry to her sense of helplessness and misery but as an aside, an escape that may or may not paint the reality (painted by the observer) so obvious to outsiders. I enjoyed the fact that it is not her voice I read but the narrator’s.

    Sometimes what others see as reality may not truly be reality.

    As usual, I dig reading you, awesome write!!!

  6. We all often whisper secrets no one wants to hear about with the hope that there will be
    someone to give a helping hand. And there is the despair in the words too, which
    probably only the author/you/ knows what is it about … because the flowers from the faucet
    drips and the granite dreams might look shaped poetically perfect, but to me they symbolize
    something lost and rusted … Lovely poem!

  7. Sparkles, Thanks. Good to know both reader and writer get the sense of despair from this, but that it doesn’t overwhelm the poem. There is no light without darkness, eh?

    John: !!! πŸ˜‰

    FireFly, me too. (with the coffee steam, that is) Poetry and espresso, I find, are a good way to start the day. πŸ™‚ Thanks for dropping by.


  8. this is an awesome writing…

    “ironing out
    the imperfections
    of pore and
    past” love that line especially; how rarely I get to read the word pore.

    16 thumbs up!

  9. Thanks, Amy! The ending does it for me, too. πŸ™‚ Glad you enjoyed.

    woih– that’s a lot of thumbs! I’ll be sure to include “pore” more often. πŸ˜‰ Gracias!


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