A poetic journey through my mind

The old crab

a house, like the shell of some strange ocean dwelling creature,
never-changing, only thickening, intensifying with a perfume of years,
as salty as the thick mist that coats the sea at midnight.

A visitor approaches and the defenses go up
grasping and pinching she tucks her possessions
tightly to her, peering over the top with wild eyes
that see in all directions, guarding and protecting
what’s left of her life.

7 responses

  1. Brilliant!

    March 21, 2012 at 11:29 am

  2. George Weaver

    Wow…what imagery. What a metaphor. This is good stuff.

    March 21, 2012 at 4:22 pm

    • KC

      Thank you! It’s from experience…my grandmother, my Nonie, a few years before she died.

      I loved her house, don’t get me wrong…it was filled with all sorts of memorabilia and niftiness from my grandfather being a Navy Captain, the whole family stationed in Japan for a long time. I think I caught my Japan-ophilia from her. *grins*

      But, on the other hand…it was all for looking, not for touching, even when I was 30-something. *sighs* And now it’s scattered among her three surviving children…after being bitterly fought over and contested. I need to write something on that. A sort of follow up… 😉

      March 21, 2012 at 4:32 pm

      • George Weaver

        YES! Write it. I did not leave comments because I was too busy reading the poetry. I have found a beautiful, soulful voice hear. I am listening and I am fascinated by what I hear! Carry on, Child.

        March 21, 2012 at 4:45 pm

  3. Love this, especially “intensifying with a perfume of years.”
    🙂
    De

    March 21, 2012 at 4:53 pm

  4. This is EXACTLY how a very elderly lady always greeted everyone else that ever came to the door at her house in the town where I went to school while growing up in Mississippi. EXCEPT when I made a firm decision not to leave her feeling “left out” when my church youth group collected coins for UNICEF one year! Do you know, that lady contributed some money and excused herself for her injured vocal chords not allowing her to speak with people! Many years later, I myself survived a carjacking/kidnapping/murder attempt, involving several stab wounds, one to my throat! I have gone through years of voice recovery as a result. The memory of that old lady with her coins and her apology has carried me through a lot of pain and embarrassment, I can tell you!

    March 22, 2012 at 4:20 pm

    • KC

      Oh my gosh! Wow, granbee…you must be so strong, to get past that and still be as positive and spiritual as you are! I’m sure that sounds sappy to say, but…just wow. *hugs*

      It’s almost the seven year anniversary of when my brother was murdered, and I keep wanting to write about it, but I can’t. The words won’t come. Not the ones I want to say, anyway.

      I want to tell the story…but it still makes me too mad to turn it into a poem, or even prose. And sad, of course, but that’s all the time, not just when I try to write, like the angry. I’ve even tried doing it brainstorm/stream of consciousness style, and all I managed to say was “I miss you” about a million times. ;(

      Sorry, but your story made me think about it.

      March 22, 2012 at 7:12 pm

Talk to me, people! ;)

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