Aftermath We may not know or ever accept what has been lost, not only what was lost yesterday and today but what we must hope to lose tomorrow and the day after and the day after that knowing that which we try to grasp runs through our fingers like sand like water like blood, what we pursue eludes us becoming smaller and smaller in the distance until it disappears. that which we have run to ground after long and desperate effort have taken home and fed and tamed and loved escapes, Each breath released is lost. You believe that you are choosing life. you are choosing loss whether you know it, whether you can or cannot accept it. Revision is the reason this cheery little piece of elegiac poetry is rendered in two colors. It is now officially half as long as it was initially written; now only the bolded lines remain as the poem, "Aftermath." This often happens. I tend to write myself into a poem; basically, I write what I want to say and then I say it. Then I wind up having to go back to find where the actual poem wound up and extract it. And sometimes I have to murder my darlings in the process. I really liked "that which we try to grasp/ runs through our fingers/ like sand/ like water/ like blood but thought the poem better without it. (Agree? Disagree?) Many dislike revision, finding it their least favorite part of writing. However, it is my favorite. Not surprising. When I sewed my own clothes (briefly! badly!) I hated the construction part, the cutting out and assembly of pattern pieces. I loved the hemming of the finished garment, the sewing on of its buttons and trim. Support an independent press: An Invitation to the Party can be ordered at: regal-house-publishing.mybigcommerce.com/an-invitation-to-the-party/
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We tend to write about what we know. I am a writer, thus this blog: Why write? What, when, where to write? Stay tuned. Archives
April 2024
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