Tuesday, January 13, 2009


Your broken bones
are not the problem.
All the mushy parts are
rotting, angry, neglected

in your young flesh. Your
vigorous outside doesn't match
the sludge produced

from spinning tires
melting into the gray air
circulating inside you.

Angry headlights
a sleek body with a
sad engine drowning.

We can see what's under
your hood, the soot
and oil of years.

You are your fiercest foe.
You have a night stick
inside you, a gun in
the glove compartment.

Black battering your heart,
your brain leaving you
restless, broken.

When you were born,
in jealousy I said,
"I'm gonna hit him"
But I never needed to.


Julie said...

Wow. This is so powerful. That sixth stanza is perfect and gives me chills. What awesome details. So, so powerful!

Jo said...

Wow indeed. The last three stanzas are visceral and very, very powerful. A great poem, Holly.

RachelW said...

Oh.... ouch.... this poem had me drawing breath as if there is something tender or wounded inside.

I'm grateful to Julie for pointing me here!

holly said...

Thank you for stopping by RachelW...I'm grateful you came.

Dick said...

Gritty and powerful. This packs quite a punch.

holly said...

Thank you Jo, Julie, Dick. This is a tough one.

christine said...

Holly, a tour de force. What powerful words. And then the title, a true zinger.

Charli said...

This is a painful poem. Like a punch. Stunning and beautiful.

Have you ever thought of adding the follower widget (or gadget or whatever) to your blog so people can keep track of you? Just wonderin'. I think I'll remember without it anyway!

holly said...

thank you Christine and Charli
I'll have to remember the follower gadget...I'm not super super savvy with all of my blog options