At our first meeting, you had physical substance,
solid and weighty.
I made note of your presence, -
hooked nose, widow's hump, and your kind, but discerning eye.
No one else did;
They had ceased to years before.
Your gradual disappearance, indiscernible at first,
an insubstantiality as the years passed.
You, - reduced to
a clattering of china in the kitchen,
a faint humming in the background.
First your eyes went.
Were they blue or brown?
Finally your fragile bird bones
faded into the woodwork.
Your hands, the last to go.
You see,
we needed them.
Her hands... caressing artful hands... or an instrument of labor?
i liked reading it, , , so gradual and smooth is this transformation with a little satire on nature, some times i feel you are making her small, but in the last are surely a hope, , her hands work? if i nderstand it correctly, , intelligent work 10
A bold truth stated in the last line. Obviously, a writing made to do so. The rest, just a set up for the last. If not, a stroke of genius on display. Either way, a work worthy of praise. GW62
The brutal honesty here is tragic Callie, and irony in the last lines has an acid barb. Yet it is truth - undeniably. Rgds, Ivan
Splendid wording was all I writ but the dropp down menu asked for at least twenty... chuckle
Oh! Gosh Callistra this is really so touching and heartfelt. It is a poem that will linger in mind for quite some time. 10 love Karin
I am reading all of your work, this one is a masterfullt written.
Those last two lines sum up so much of the female experience.... thank you. May I read this at a poetry group next week? You say it so much better than I could.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You are very good Callie. Some of my work is considered too blunt and frank, but if you'd like to read my 2 best poems check out 'this poet' and 'take it down'