Friday, February 10, 2012

In My Hands

These years I've spent collecting bones
have worn my fingerprints away,
and left my hands as smooth as stone,
as blank as id's half-shadowed face.
Without a hint of proof or trace
of truth to who I claim I am,
will you let me in, let me stay,
and feel the story in my hands?

These years I've spent arranging stones
have torn my back and taxed my brain.
Well enough not left alone
creates its own peculiar strain.
And pain creeps in to fill the space
left bare when you've done all you can
to build the barrenness away.
Can you feel the story in my hands?

These years I've spent neglecting home,
I scorn them now as tragic waste.
The time I've lost while I was gone
is time that cannot be replaced.
I run, knowing I'll lose the race
to love, forgive, to understand
and be understood; past erased.
Can you feel the story in my hands?

When all of this has passed away,
may I find what comfort that I can -
all those things that I couldn't say,
you felt the story in my hands.

This is a little loose with rhyme and syllable count, but I think it's still a Ballade.  Submitted to dVerse.


Sylvia K said...

Whatever it is loose in, it's not lacking in depth, in aching sadness, in poignancy. It is beautiful.

Beachanny said...

Splendid use of the form. I like the way you crafted and curved it just enough to make each stanza new and fresh, the repetitions not sounding forced but reinforcing your initial image.

As to content, it hits home for evey woman, every mother. Those who work and those who don't. Why do those groups polarize? Working mothers, or career women do that for a multitude of reasons. As do women who work in the home at a kajillion jobs. Yet both are made to feel as though they've missed out. One by peers, the other by family. You capture all that here so beautiful, so implicitly. Excellent work!

ab said...

Gorgeous writing MZ! I love the the imagery and meaning that surrounds this line: "to build the barrenness away..."

Fireblossom said...

I have no idea about ballades, but I like your poem very much. If you tell me you write this in ten minutes or something, I will have to kick you.

hedgewitch said...

"Well enough not left alone/creates its own peculiar strain." What a line--excellent piece, MZ--full of insight,mournful and very much a feel of something sung quietly to oneself; if that's a ballade, I'm all for it.

Fred Rutherford said...

MZ, fine job with the form, I've always seemed to get either frustrated with it or produced something sounding way too forced, very smooth reading here, nothing forced at all, really nice job, thanks

Laurie Kolp said...

You did great with the form, MZ! I know how hard it is.

Sherry Blue Sky said...

Beautiful and sad, Mama Zen. I resonate with the years gone by that cannot be replaced. Very poignant. But thankfully you are young with many glorious years ahead.

Anonymous said...

story in the hands says so much -- poets, artists, sculptors, painters.... nice

Taylor Boomer said...

amazing take.

Bodhirose said...

I know how hard it is too and this feels so effortlessly flowing with a beautifully-told, heart-tugging message.

Caty said...

I felt this poem, and I thought the form was great also!

Brian Miller said...

alright the form kicked my butt second go round and it felt forced so i scrapped did really well with this MZ...lots to love in your words....

Grace said...

I know how challenging it is to write with the form, so I raise my glass to you. This is well done and your last line in all the verses hit home~

Great work MZ~

Manicddaily said...

Great job! K.

kez said...

I think this is fab very rhythmic but with beautiful and poignant lyrics, thank you for sharing x