Cracking Spines Open with Her Bare Hands

.

Give her pages.
A soft place. A warm cup.
And enough.

Enough time. Enough brain
space. Enough traces of ink
on her skin, as her fingers
travel. Enough unraveling of
her own self to allow her to
swallow whole the story with
-in. Enough words to hold her
there for enough heartbeats,
questions, breaths.

Enough small deaths and
resurrections. Just the right
alchemy of gasp, and tear
and song.

.
Prompted by Quickly in November, day 19.

 

 

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3 Responses to Cracking Spines Open with Her Bare Hands

  1. Misky says:

    Oh to find just ‘enough’ !

  2. Shawna says:

    That title is a poem all on its own. Sometimes you have to break people before you can build them up. I think it takes being destroyed to really begin to become yourself.

    Also, you’re talking about the “spines” of books. (Now I’ll read the rest of the poem!) Oh, and oysters … not that they have “spines,” but I’m thinking of shellfish.

    This poem is seriously amazing. Even just the title. Even just the title and the first stanza. Even just that killer closing!!!

    “Just the right
    alchemy of gasp” … Holy cats, are you serious with this brilliance?!

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