my senses can assault {poetry thursday}
my senses can assault.
sometimes I am prepared.
smell
lily of the valley blooms in May
(and in perfume, soap, lotion)
a freshly opened tub of ponds cold cream
yes, this will be you.
hear
a line in a song by Kenny Rogers
(“if I close my eyes, it doesn’t hurt quite so bad”)
your voice as I make applesauce
it has already happened, so I am ready.
touch
two pairs of soft fluffy indigo socks
(one mine, one yours)
a long flannel nightgown
memories of past Christmas mornings.
see
the picture in my studio
(we walk on the beach holding hands)
the turquoise on my right ring finger
I know you will be here.
but taste.
even my tongue can interrupt
the simple cadence of my day.
the cold, tart cranberry juice
hits my taste buds,
a usual event.
but today
it is this flowered glass,
similar in weight, texture, color
to the small faceted juice glasses
you would fill with this sharp red liquid
and put before me at the kitchen table,
mixed with the taste of peanut butter still on my lips
and the aroma of this tangy fruit juice.
the unlikely combination that leads me back
to you.
grief has no manners
no understanding of time and place
no tact
no empathy.
they say it comes in waves,
but I think it sucker punches you
whenever the hell it feels like it.
I started this poem a few months ago when I was eating peanut butter on toast and drinking cranberry juice out of a new glass used for the first time. Poetry continues to be a way to push through the grief. I stopped everything and just started putting the experience and emotions down into a poem.
Revisiting a poem and stepping back from it and finding a new phrase or stripping down an idea to the image you want to convey, I am enjoying this more than I ever imagined. I love poetry.
Read more poetry on this Thursday by visiting Poetry Thursday.
on grieving (and healing), poetry
Reader Comments (22)
The last stanza hit me like a brick- I have been dealing with the loss of my dad and it's exactly how grief has been for me these last three months. Grief is very impolite, to say the least...
Thank you so much for this... really.
That makes me think of a poem that I had written, and I think was lost when my roomate's computer died unexpectedly. I hope I can find it somewhere again.
Poetry has helped me tremendously with working through my grief. And the strangest things trigger the waves of it... for me, the words "poor pitiful thing" always do it... being called by my first & middle name... and seeing the deck of Spite & Malice cards. Totally unexpected things... but man do they pack a punch!!!
'grief has no manners' hit me hard and had me nodding and remembering us breaking down in the middle of a show sitting amongst a building full of strangers ~ i love this poem, its imagery and truth, so beautiful ...
thank you for sharing ...
The small, everyday things are often the ones that have the biggest impact. That's the way it is with my father (who has Alzheimer's): I see all around me the little things he crafted for me from wood, things that made my life when I was first on my own easier and less lonely. Now those very things make me lonely for him.
This poem is so touching, Liz. Thank you for sharing it with all of us.
sighhhh. I really don't have any words, other than, a heavy sigh...so very beautiful!!! xxoxoxo
I love the way you changed it up for "taste" and I am especially fond of "a freshly opened tub of ponds cold cream" because my grandmother used to use cold cream, and cold cream only to remove her makeup every night. How I loved watching her!
You know when you hit the jackpot now and again with words ? Well you did, with the "grief has no manners..." line. Brilliant stuff. BB
Thanks again for the inspiration... I came home and found a copy of the poem I mentioned, saved on my computer. Syncronicity?
Abstract and yet visceral and tangible. That's the goal. You're doing very well.
Abstract and yet visceral and tangible. That's the goal. You're doing very well.
The last lines made me gasp. Yes, grief is like this.
I like the whole poem, but those last few lines...yeah. That's IT. That's it exactly. {{{Liz}}}
Here you have revisited and visited grief and conveyed that in a strong poem. Thanks.
Echoing what others have said here: "grief has no manners" is just a brilliant line, and having the final stanza come across exactly like the "sucker punch" that it describes really, I think, allows the reader of the poem to share just a bit in the very visceral experiences of the narrator.
Really, really nice. Thanks so much for sharing this.
YES YES YES... a wonderful poem, my friend xo
Ohhhh wonderful and full of sensory satisfaction:)
This poem hurts beautifully. There is beauty in grief, and we need poetry to see that, I think. You've done it very well. Best wishes to you.
This is just really beautiful poetry. I can "see" all of it, this moment.
It really touches me, because I am really missing my grandpa so much this season... The last lines are so true. In my head, I am okay...But my heart forgets.
:)
after reading this i just feel like cheering for you!!! isn't that what writing poetry is all about...
And we love that you share your poems. Hope you're well in all this weather I'm reading about!
Nice poem. Cheers...
Beautiful, heart-breaking, vivid. It simultaneously makes me grieve and eases grief. Wow.