Face to Face with Myself

[miyako73]

On the altar of adorned idols
Crowned with tins and rust
Keeping broken rosary beads,
A smiling child, a crucified Jesus
And Mary's melted paraffin face;
In the wooden box of jades,
Red zirconias, and cheap silvers
Containing familiar faded notes
And receipts of the money owed,
Lent and lost to someone gone;
Between the yellowing pages
Of the books I neatly arrange
Hiding the remains of my touch,
The memories of my wet fingers,
And the brown stains of my saliva;
Among the overgrown trousers,
The shirts that need some sewing,
And the old blankets in the closet
Concealing unwashed handkerchiefs
In the neat bosoms of their folds,
I see my shadow, unmasked by holes,
Broken windows, and lifted blinds,
Whose blown voice, fainter than air,
Pesters like a midnight toothache
And leaves me so distant, so lost.

[Delta40]

Among the overgrown trousers,
The shirts that need some sewing
And the old blankets in the closet
Concealing unwashed handkerchiefs
in the neat bosoms of their folds;

Do you mean the handkerchiefs are concealed in the folds of the blankets or in the folds of the shirts?

I love And Mary's melted paraffin face;

Whose blown voice, fainter than air,
Pesters like a midnight toothache
And leaves me so distant, so lost.

as well as the reference to sewing. You really have a gift and this poem leaves me feeling rather sombre as even the unwritten images flood my mind.

[miyako73]

Delta. thanks. You're right. I just added a comma after sewing. I like the image of a blanket (whose shape is like that of a handkerchief) wrapping a handkerchief maybe soiled from crying.

[ShadowsCool]

Many images come to mind, pestering like a midnight toothache. And why not? It's a dark piece but enchanting just the same.

[Jack of Hearts]

Of the books I neatly arrange
Hiding the remains of my touch,
The memories of my wet fingers,
And the brown stains of my saliva;

Licking your fingers and turning the page, tsk, tsk. There are a plethora of images in this poem and it's tempting to get washed away in them. But Delta is right about it being sombre, and ultimately it's that feeling that helped this reader reach the other side. It kept everything a little more cohesive.



J

[qimissung]

I like the outpouring of images, of a person struggling to find themselves, even among beloved objects that they might have once thought defined them.