Not writing for a long time is making me feel like a jigsaw puzzle missing its final piece.
Critique, please.
My favourite body part, shoulders.
Before I was old enough to know
what a ladder was for
I would sit atop my father’s and
gather the stars closer.
Before I laid with pillows
I would lower my head
between that space against your neck
where, in safety, I laughed, and I wept.
Before, they were only bones to hold
Now I pretend, I am Atlas
carrying the heavens
For if the weight of the heavens is a death sentence
You, are the most romantic penance.
Advertisements
I really like this poem. It is a great concept. My only critique is that you rhyme the last two lines of the last two stanzas, but not the last two lines of the first stanza. It threw me off my rhythm when I was reading it.