My hand is out for you

I plucked an eyelash crop in my sleep. Wishes wet and unmoved, I watched a tree blush with Winter’s proposal. A white terrier barked behind glass. I couldn’t hear a word, but it seemed important he reach someone who wasn’t there. His body jumped with each howl.
I’m afraid my girls are lonely. Last night, I didn’t even want my skin touched, the guilt knowing it’s there for me and not wanting it. Instead, sweating through a sweater, sweating in a pillow, sweating in sleep – night’s marathon swim.

We’re such unstable rocks. A boulder field of bodies. Step. Rock. We practice balance like instruments. I’m blowing horns and crashing. Only the wind chime responds.

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6 Responses to My hand is out for you

  1. gorgeous poem. like melancholy music, haunting.

    • rachvb says:

      This morning was melancholy with rain. It was a light on to see that warm, bursting tree outside my window, even with my glasses off. I’m not ready for winter. Not ready at all. But I think it’s coming soon.
      Hope you are warm and dry in NY.
      xoxo

  2. Each of your entries here is a poem or prose poem, Rach. Have you thought of sending these away to journals? Say, for instance, a suite of them with water (rain, the river, umbrellas, tears, sweat. . . ) as a connecting element? Just a thought – I recently read a bunch of Alex Epstein’s short stories/prose poems and was magnetized/electrified – as I often am when I read your blog, dear Rach. Have a look-see? http://rosamirabooks.blogspot.com/search/label/Alex%20Epstein
    Much love – and thanks for continuing to come to my blog even when it’s not got much to offer. . . C xx

    • rachvb says:

      I haven’t had much time to look back on what I’ve been writing this week or the past two weeks for that matter, but thank you for reminding me to do so – to pay attention. And thank you for the amazing link! I’m going to try and find his work here – if not, that’s what the internet is for =) I’ve always been drawn to both, wondering sometimes what the difference is. Why one and not the other? It’s definitely something worth exploring. Maybe my next project in the making? Thank you, too, for coming back. I’ll always be a reader to you and a fan and a friend.
      xoxo

  3. Hi Rach – I agree; what’s the difference? I consider poems paintings, and paintings poems, too. Or prose poems. . . . perhaps anything that’s a container for our personal and universal experience is poetry, no matter the form it chooses for its expression. I’m glad you’re happy to discover Alex Epstein – and Penelope, too, at Rosa Mira Books. . . Do please explore the idea of gathering your blog posts into communities, word groups. . . whatever one might call them?!

    If my computer’s on, I come and see you here x

    • rachvb says:

      Claire,
      What I think is also strange is who gets to decide what is what? I think poetry is so undefinable – it can be anything, as art can be anything. I think the point is to express and move and create. Sometimes I think dreams are poetry and those are purely visual. So, I don’t know what poetry is supposed to be. I wonder if I ever will? I think I like not knowing.
      I tried to find Alex Epstein at the book store here – no luck – but I hate the bookstore here. It never has anything I want! I’ll have to try online. I’ll be going back to the site, though. So much to explore!
      I’m taking off work tomorrow, so it’s going to be a writing/gathering day.
      Hope you are well!
      sending love,
      Rach xo

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