What Shape You’d See Clearly

Something you’ve not had
you’d have no concept of
and yet you’d still let
fingers stitch the yarn,
needle through until it’d
swell into a mound.

Does it take sheer guts,
or memory, you’d ask?

It’s called memory but even
deeper, the shape of your
soul probably. Faint yet
emphatic, so these twitching
fingers is not an act,
they’re tracing ghosts.

Coming into presence,
manifold absence blooms,
leaves you there open and
wasted, and elegant–
what shape you’d see
clearly when it comes.

And then becomes quiet,
still as the hills.

Prompt:

We’d launch our current issue earlier this year in March. So it’s coming to five months now. In case you’d forgotten, the theme is “Sweet Sorrow”. So yea. You’ve got about a month left to submit, till the closure on 25 August. It’d be our final thematic issue. In case you didn’t know, there’s a sister site which provides prompts. It’s called Red Wolf Poems. I really like the synergy that comes from process and journalling, I’ll probably continue with that even if at a glacial pace. So if you wrote to the prompts over at that site, then your poem might cross over to the journal. I’d like to keep the focus on process. So when it’s over, it’s not really over. Haha. What’s the saying? It ain’t over till the fat lady sings. I mean, if you can still remember how sweet it was, it’s not really over is it? Could it be even sweeter in the recollection? Because it’d have percolated through the fog of those years? Wow this really gets me in a mood.

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