Safe Hands

[hillwalker]

SAFE HANDS

Why don’t you let us do this thing together….. eh?
I’ll wash your hair for you
massage your scalp as gently as I can
help rinse away the shampoo and conditioner
and comb these dripping, tangled ringlets
further from your eyes until they dry

Where I kneel I sense each seismic sob
the aftershocks convulsing through your bones
the patterned tiles like mirrors for our grief
that amplify the echo ‘til it floods the room

A pair of folded wings before your face
attempts to hold them back but still I count
each single one as they release their sombre cadence
like implosions on the lukewarm water
and the swirling suds that slosh beneath your breasts

You beg me hold you under but I tell you that I cannot
that I lack the strength to grieve alone
instead I search for memories of better days but keep them to myself for now
those times when innocence and hope allowed us still to smile

That wicked trick you played
the curtains drawn when I got home from work
the note taped to the door
‘Undress Me’
stifling laughter as I peeled away your layers ‘til the final skin was bared
then sudden gasp of silence as you let me find that secret message for myself
drawn half an inch below your navel
like a kidney bean with cartoon eyes

And even now I dare to touch that perfect belly
smooth that golden skin embossed with the elasticated waistband of your pants
and feel your every flinch and share your every gasp
as you absorb another punch below the belt

There is a nervous tension in your body like a clenching fist
a grip so tight I cannot break it
how I long to tell you to let go
there’s nothing left to hold
but I’m no good with words

H

[Delta40]

Hill, you're so wonderful with words and I have conjured up in my mind the caring of an elderly person here. I read a short story of a guy who was caring for his mother with dementia. It was an extraordinary story in the way he journeyed through her daily care, his curiousity, painful and fond memories and combined it into a heartbreaking existence.

[Jerrybaldy]

I have read several times Hill and I have a recurring thought that the lady has aborted a baby. The joy of course of having to read your poem several times is that you have to read your poems several times :)
cheers
Jerry

[hillwalker]

Thanks Delta - I thught I had better post a more 'caring' poem after my previous two. But there's a clue in verse 5 that perhaps you missed.

Jerry is much closer to the mark (except he thinks I've become Prince - perhaps I was right all along about us metamorphosing into one collective mind). Having said he's closer, he's not exactly right - the loss was more accidental than intentional.

Thanks both for responding anyway.

H

[Delta40]

uhm its the middle of the night here ok? an arrow pointing downwards? no don't go there. let me think of a nice senile old woman instead.....

[PrinceMyshkin]

I dared not guess at the nature of the self-inflicted wound. I'm not prepared to venture a guess still, certainly not until I've recouped the sangfroid to suffer once again through this brilliantly written poem.

But, Lord! This so soon after "Mairy's Ditch"!!! Surely you ought to allow yourself to write something, er, light?

[hillwalker]

@Prince - but I did (E-Mail) - and rest assured it's not a self-inflicted wound as such, just the natural loss of a child before full term.

H

[Hawkman]

Very well written hill and I thought the subject was perfectly understandable, a perfect balance of description and subject.

Best, H

[Jerrybaldy]

Dear Prince. errmm Hill. I take much pride in being close but not exactly right. Thats the closest I have come to a commentary bullseye in some time. It is only going to serve to encourage me at deciphering.
best wishes
Daf eerrmm Jerry

[Bar22do]

Hill, for me, the hint was in

"that I lack the strength to grieve alone",

this is where I got it. It's also the most powerful phrase here.

I love how you planned to present the theme, your words are strong and effective in what and how they convey.

However, I'd suggest you work on this poem just a little more and tighten it, to empty it from direct sentimentality ("counting tear drops") and telling ("this pain this loss") the loss is felt better when we are not told of it.
Well, but this is only my personal feedback/voice which you can of course ignore.
It's a good poem which, with a bit of trimming, can become outstanding! Auntie would say solid. :wink5:

[blank|verse]

Another emotionally hard-hitting poem, this hill. It sounds autobiographical, so you have my sympathies. It's a brave poem to write if that's the case.

It reminded me of a scene from 'Saturday Night and Sunday Morning' (I think) when something similar happens. You are quite an Alan Sillitoe in your poems of gritty realism!

As for the poetry itself, it's very good, but I do want the lines to be tighter. As I think I've said in another piece of yours, the lines do lean towards iambic pentameter, even imperfectly. So the longer lines stick out, like the last one in this stanza:

Where I kneel I sense each seismic sob
the aftershocks convulsing through your bones
the patterned tiles like mirrors for our grief
that amplify this pain this loss until their echo floods the room
And it's quite heavy-handed as well, that last line - pain, loss - and we've just had 'grief' in the previous line.

But good stuff, a difficult but compelling poem.

[hillwalker]

@Bar and @b|v - thank you both - you have confirmed what I already felt in my bones as I was giving this a final polish before posting (the more I tampered the more certain lines seemed to stretch).

I have edited it slightly, taking away the more 'telling' parts, but hopefully not making the meaning of v3 too obscure. It was a case of suggesting tears without the 'wings' now becoming the new subjectof the sentence (?).

H