to grief.

bare-bones / wed to abandoning in-utero
fingers; the apple bursts
like an appendix / and the sea
breast to breast / is a mistress
to the Kalahari sun
/ mouthing /
to my moon
“death goes to the worms” / alien touch / my love has gone /
threnody and dream,

as if the Earth is glass /
stranded / to the ghosts /
of ourselves / this is the body
of sand / my love
is soon gone to / plasma
/ in the lights / 

threnody and dying
the sea is an insomniac
maniac / to the glassy
violets / and stargazer flowers
spawning on an inch of Autumn 

death; stroke the worms’ gut
death feeds them well when we’re
eventually gone /

I tire to grief / alien touch / I withdraw from / the moon’s fingertips /
for my love has gone.

© 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.


Written for the August Prompt #2 for Free Verse Revolution.

Reposted for the dVerse open link night.


60 thoughts on “to grief.

  1. Mystically fantastic, and mythically dramatic, with an exquisitely powerful finale….superb…

    “I tire to grief / alien touch / I withdraw from / the moon’s fingertips /
    for my love has gone”

    Liked by 4 people

  2. I fell in love, once. I cannot do it, again. Why? It’s because I would rather die, without her. On my blog, 1,000+ poems are in dedication to her, and only her. Grief is a factor for my own death, were I to eclipse her from my heart.

    I understand grief. I am so cruel as to say I’d be happy losing anyone else, over her. I fell in love, not to live, though to remind myself I am sunken, if she is, too. I would rather die, if I cannot swim to her, in whatever ocean we both dwell in. I would rather sink, if she sinks, rather than call myself the failure by living in that disgrace.

    She is everything. My all. My wholeness. My completion.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Amazing layout and use of punctuation, Lucy, and I too love the way you wove the sea into the threnody. I was blown away by the surprising simile: ‘the apple bursts like an appendix’ and the lines:
    ‘as if the Earth is glass /
    stranded / to the ghosts /
    of ourselves / this is the body
    of sand’
    and
    ‘the sea is an insomniac
    maniac’.

    Liked by 2 people

  4. Grief is a deity here, and the poem is a prayer — humbled and in awe of grief’s immense breadth and depth in the heart. It is breathless and near-silent and jagged (those line breaks leaping and mashing in their own lines!) and fulsome — a wildness which is exhausting to the broken heart. A ghosting. A dirge. It might be holy too, but not now, not yet. Amen.

    Liked by 1 person

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