Poem: Old Wounds
Old Wounds
It’s August again,
and while my mind is slow
to remember,
my body always knows
this is the month you died.
The tears come unbidden.
Days go by where I don’t know
why I’m so weepy.
My eyes won’t quit leaking.
Then, it hits me.
Like the wake of an explosion.
My body understands what my mind
has been trying to forget.
Though now I recognize
I’ve been thinking about you for days
without realizing
I’ve been thinking about you for days.
I’ve been thinking around you –
of all these things in my life
that represent you without
fully understanding that
these things are all about you.
I can’t believe denial is still
the first trick my brain chooses
after all these years. But this year,
as in all years past, acceptance
refuses to settle here.
I love so many small things about this piece! That whole opening verse and how it pulls the reader right in. This part right here ->
“I’ve been thinking about you for days
without realizing
I’ve been thinking about you for days.”
So
And also:
“I’ve been thinking about you for days.
I’ve been thinking around you –”
I really like the play on how the word “about” can also mean “around”. Plus, I love the notion of “thinking around” someone. It brings to mind a mental image of water flowing past a rock. The rock is there and the water can’t get through it. So, it flows around it.
Aw, thank you. I’ve noticed recently that when I write, I usually keep things and work on them for a long time before I ever share them. But there are times, like with this poem, where the feeling is so urgent that I not only have to write the poem, but when that’s not enough, I share it. Somehow, I think that will release whatever I’m feeling. As if I confess the thing that’s weighing most heavily on me, I will no longer be burdened by it. I’m not sure that it’s true, but it is what I do. It’s with great relief that it’s received well, so thank you for your kind words.
You’re very welcome!
I totally understand that feeling of needing to get the words written down. That happened to me after my dad died. We came home from the hospital and I needed to write my thoughts, my feelings, my memories of that moment while it was all still fresh inside of me. It was more than a need. It was this overwhelming drive. I couldn’t not write it all down.
“As if I confess the thing that’s weighing most heavily on me, I will no longer be burdened by it.” That makes sense to me.