not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Friday, December 30, 2011

longing




as your body is gone from me, my voice grows smaller. 
i have layers upon me like the matted hair of a cat
and in all my bodily being there is but one small resident of a mouse. 
its heart beats so fast i am afraid of it like a thumbprint. 
how easily it might be eclipsed. 
i push it back underneath the table out of harm's way
where it manages to stay alive, warm like an earlobe,
waiting for your return.


14 comments:

  1. I know this feeling, and it will be there for a while, each time she leaves your sight, each time you notice how distant she can be.

    I used to think that I could fix this; I could do something.

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  2. Dear Erin, thank you for your beautifull answer to my comment about "nostalgia" yesterday on your blog, we will talking about more and more i'm sure... -) this is a good subject! Well i like so much you as you are, i mean as you are thinking, and i like your profil in this shot too very very much! I want to wish you a new year full of inspiration and that you are always well!!!'

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  3. rosaria, i smile. this is me in the photograph and while i do long so heartily for my children right now (they are with their father) it is my love, james, that i long for here, but it could be anything, couldn't it, or anyone.

    laura, i hope you don't mind but i put that comment on my other blog and linked to you. i think you do important work, work that speaks for us all. i wish you a great deal of goodness, too, in this new year.

    and rosaria, you too, of course!

    xo
    erin

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  4. Nice. "Warm like an earlobe" A beautiful,simple,safe,space.

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  5. yes, herringbone, safe for the small and vulnerable.

    xo
    erin

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  6. It seemed intimate but universal. I like your thoughts. Hope I didn't intrude.

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  7. herringbone! no! i don't think that is possible, is it, to intrude? we invite each other into our rooms, into our lives, really. you're welcome.

    xo
    erin

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  8. your poetry gets better all the time; fine use of metaphor in this one...and of course, i always enjoy your photos as i sneak a peak at the "north country girl" whose mystery continues to inspire

    happy new year, erin

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  9. a fine an delicate text for an image that adapts to what you mean.

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  10. this is simply gorgeous. poetry as great as it can be. and you are delicate like a snow flake. the fine flower of ice on the window pane seems to grow out of your breath. and you have almost become one with your shadow.

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  11. ted, i smile and give you such a warm hug. north country girl. i laugh. there is great truth in this. you can not imagine. last night for new year's eve i walked out of town and toward the forest and rock. you would like it here, i think. all the best to you and yours.

    and to you, too, herringbone.

    damaso, thank you)) best to you.

    roxana, it didn't feel like a poem at all but rather a feeling. i'm so pleased you saw the flower of ice on the window pane. it is so much more important than me or the poem. in fact, i went to it. love to you and yours, roxana.

    xo
    erin

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  12. i have been back here so many times, trying to find the words, but nothing is enough

    this is one of the most important, truest love poems i have ever seen ... i want to welcome this mouse beneath my skin and come to you ...

    and the photo!! i want to live in that longing forever ... that would be life :-)

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  13. james, you are living inside of that longing. this is life. and the mouse beneath the thin crust - we know of this. it enters us both.))))

    xo
    erin

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"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))