I have spent more than 15 years
coming to recognize the deeply
cathartic nature of poetry;
how blank space and punctuation
leave room – sometimes demanding –
for us to unpack wounds and
scars
long-healed on the surface,
but still as raw at the core
as the day someone else's
(or, occasionally, even our own)
words or actions sliced us to
the marrow.
With metaphor and word-painting,
they let us plumb the depths
without passing out from the
pain,
sidling up to wretchedness
without having to look it in the
eye
until we’re ready to close the
door
with terms of our own making;
the best of them often showing
us
a stairway out of hole and hurt,
as holy sutures stitch
each step behind us,
walking us toward the light
again
for what feels like the first
time,
experiencing resurrection
in-the-flesh.
© 2015 Todd Jenkins
Lovely insight/
ReplyDeleteSo good, Todd. Another one to clip and save. And ponder. Sometimes too afraid to open up those scars. How many years must pass before one is brave enough to do this? And what the hell am I waiting for? I think it is fear, truly. So good, again. So good.
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ReplyDeleteI would add that sometimes the fear is what will be uncovered-- I mean, we write to discover what we do not know that we know and what is that information is too strong for the soul-- like a drink that proves to potent-- or what if condemnation follows? I have a lot of questions and not many answers...writing uncovers that...so there is a fear.
ReplyDeleteIronic, isn't it, that something so revealing -- and therefore fearful -- as writing can be the very thing that uncovers fear itself? Maybe that's just how it works: in order to loosen fear's grip on us, we have to get close enough to peel fearful fingers from our throat. Sometimes, I realize that the fingers I'm peeling are my own.
Deleteah, yep. :)
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