Domestic Lament

I call you, drunken as a fishwife
and relive all iniquities, my own
blotted like a tainted yolk,
some wicked embryo longing,
uncurled beneath a thin white shell,
showing future claws
and every wanton scratching in the dirt.

You have not eaten and what sympathy
you hoped to find, congealed
with the ice I kissed
into your wounds, not having salt enough
to go around.
I imagine your eyes, stunned,
deep pupilled, looking for the unseen hand
to strike from nowhere,
the twisted gray rope where you
might hang yourself by accident,
where I might find you later
stiff and cold and have regrets.

Where is the food we once shared between us?
This larder is filled with the ghosts of bread,
the smell of old blood, something
left too long uncooled in the open.
Flies hum and we are afraid to kill
this simple evidence of life.
That something can be sustained here
brings tiny calm and tender bits of what
we would call hope if we were young
and not aware of worldly ways.

Here we pose like the people
we might become, so we are seen
bright and apart from sins of consummation.
Everything we touch curls up at the edges,
all the moisture sucked from a common core.
You cry and my past leaps out
to haunt me with deadly rebukes,
all the sentiment has leaked from seams
not tight enough, not sealed within
like airless vaults where treasure
waits for light's cue to gleam.

This!
Where you are inside me like a mollusk
a simple shell hinged in dark places
dreaming dreams of pearl
and far away oysters!
You!
Awakened where I can no longer
touch your damp mystery or give names
to all your secret chambers.
I put my ear to your belly and hear
primordial tides, wet with urgency,
rising and falling away.

You left me in the the morning.

First we woke with dawn pressing the world
and the mill sirens droning low in the distance.
Your body told me with its heat the role
of passion in your dreams,
an animal desire, to sweep, to clean
smooth our coral bones like branches
tossed, driftwood up against the shore
tangled salty and wet.

The very last kiss:
warm and close on the back of your neck
so you could not see my tears,
or hear the wild rhythm of my heart.

This poem has a strong, lyrical edge!

I felt like the poem's pace picked up in the third stanza and wondered if this stanza could become the first. Though the first two stanzas were full of intense, memorable imagery, they seemed a little out of place with the running themes of water and sustenance. Can they be cut from this poem and used in another?

This piece reminded me of Sharon Old's work- especially her poem, I Go Back to May 1937. My favorite images: "coral bones" and "secret chambers". Your use of consonance is exceptional.

Hello Sayuri. Thanks for the comments on my poem. I am not familiar with the poem you mention, though now I will probably look it up. I have only recently come to appreciate Ms. Olds' work, mainly because of this site.

I will certainly take your suggestions into consideration for a rewrite... though scrapping those first stanzas entirely may take this piece outside of my original intent.
That may not be a bad idea... but I'd have to sit with it a bit.
Did you find any of the imagery problematic, or was it mostly a matter of theme/voice which inspired you toward your suggestions?

Hi RZS-

I felt that the last six stanzas were sharp and concise whereas the first two stanzas had a slower pace. I wondered if this was done on purpose to mirror the escalation of an argument between lovers.

I enjoyed the strong imagery of the first and second stanza. The first line, I call you, drunken as a fishwife, was very potent, but seemed a little muddled by the longer description of egg and embryo.

I saw a strong connection between sea and hunger throughout the rest of the poem- perhaps some of the images such as the twisted gray rope could be integrated elsewhere in the remaining stanzas.

Wendy, this painful history of love transformed by the history of everyday personal failings resonates with me. I'd linebreak it differently at a few points, and delete the occasional word here and there. Perhaps along these lines:

I call you, drunken as a fishwife
and relive all iniquities, my own
blotted like a tainted yolk,
some wicked embryo longing,
uncurled beneath a thin white shell,
showing future claws
and every wanton scratching in the dirt.<--wonderful stanza!

You have not eaten and what sympathy<-comma after eaten?
you hoped to find, congealed
with the ice /I kissed<-break;move "with the ice" up
into your wounds, not having salt enough<-"I kissed into your wounds" one line
to go around.<-becomes not having enough to go around.

I imagine your eyes, stunned,
deep pupilled, looking for the unseen hand
to strike from nowhere,
the twisted gray rope where you
might hang yourself by accident,
where I might find you later
stiff and cold and have regrets.

Where is the food we once shared between us?
This larder is filled with the ghosts of bread,
the smell of old blood, something
left too long uncooled in the open.
Flies hum and we are afraid to kill
this simple evidence of life.
That something can be sustained here
brings tiny calm and tender bits of what<-comma after "calm"?
we would call hope if we were young
and not aware of worldly ways.

Here we pose like the people
we might become, so we are seen
bright and apart from sins of consummation.
Everything we touch curls up at the edges,
all the moisture sucked from a common core.
You cry and my past leaps out
to haunt me with deadly rebukes,
all the sentiment has leaked from seams
not tight enough, not sealed within
like airless vaults where treasure<-delete"like", or if not, comma after "within".
waits for light's cue to gleam.

This!<-delete
Where you are inside me like a mollusk<-delete "where",cap "you", comma after "mollusk".
a simple shell hinged in dark places
dreaming dreams of pearl
and far away oysters!
You!<- delete
Awakened where I can no longer<-delete "where", becomes "Awakened, I can no ..."
touch your damp mystery or give names
to all your secret chambers.
I put my ear to your belly and hear
primordial tides, wet with urgency,
rising and falling away.

You left me in the the morning.

First we woke with dawn pressing the world<-comma for breath control-lol
and the mill sirens droning low in the distance.
Your body told me with its heat the role
of passion in your dreams,
an animal desire, to sweep, to clean<-drop "to clean" to nest line for clarity
smooth our coral bones /like branches<-break at "bones"
tossed, driftwood up against /the shore<-break at "against'
tangled salty and wet.

The very last kiss:
warm and close on the back of your neck
so you could not see my tears,
or hear the wild rhythm of my heart.

last stanza:

The very last kiss, warm and close
on the back of your neck,
so you could not see my tears, or hear
the wild rhythm of my heart.

Fine poem!

L.

so wonderful