Aunt Jena's House
Aunt Jena's House
Ridgepole broken
joists barren and twisted
loosed gutters flopping
in a dry wind
eyeless
old house
A rusted weather-cock leans
into the hollow
rubble
piles against the lean
ground gives way
under our tread
Why, I ask can they not bury
these bones
of my memory?
posted by Fran @ 5:23 PM
3 comments
3 Comments:
Fascinating and haunting Fran. Like all your work it is so visual, so real, this one leaves me with the hair on the back of my neck standing up.
Hummmm. I am rather fond of the last line - it sort of grabbed me by the throat. I felt emotion in it that the words "bones of my memory" would not convey. This emotion was sharpened by the change to the single line. Fascinating how we see things so differently, so much the same.
The comments are great Mike - no intrusion as far as I'm concerned. I would bet that Fran feels the same. Looking at your thoughts made me look at the poem from a different angle and clarify what I was seeing/feeling to myself. Looking, thinking, reflecting, wondering . . . these are always good.
I have not been commenting as much as I would like on this forum. There simply do not seem to be enough hours in the day.
I hear what you say about the last stanza ruhdwulf but like Winnie I found myself gasping at the question posed. My mother, who is a similar age to you Fran, would love to be able to bury some of the bones that persistently haunt her and somehow posing the question in this manner highlighted that overwhelming desire to forget things such as the desolate ruin of a place once loved.
As for the appropriateness of making comments I appreciate such constructive feedback.
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