the softest of palms

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(4/11/26)

i look out to the lake,
water muddied & thick with
brown. i think about
what might have killed it,
left here to wade through.

i have always thought
everything could be resolved
through a gentle touch & the
slow breath between my lips.

the waves ripple without me,
soiled & untouched.
it is always another hand that guides me.




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Spoiler
Avian! Good to see you here!

i yearn for soft palms,
sometimes. and i say sometimes
like i don't mean all the time, like
i don't mean i want someone else
to cradle me whilst i sit in lethargy,
all curled limbs and slack-jawed.


What an opening - with great tension between wanting / not quite committing to wanting - there's a hesitancy to the yearning.

I found your two religious / prayer-poems to be very striking too as a religious person myself - I think people are often hesitant to write about the struggled sides of faith and I admire folks who are able to explore that, as I do not think that doubt and faith are mutually-exclusive. It goes with the "palms" theme unexpectedly too - the hands folded in prayer hesitantly, or with shame or frustration or doubt underneath it all.

Love love love these two lines too ->
the earth split & crumbling with a stampede
not yet passed, hooves sharp against my sides,


Gosh is that gorgeously phrased - perfect sound devices too - and I can see the horses emerging from the core of the earth / person!

Thanks for sharing your poetry this month, I look forward to reading more! <3
you should know i am a time traveler &
there is no season as achingly temporary as now
but i have promised to return



I lingered round them, under that benign sky: watched the moths fluttering among the heath and harebells, listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass, and wondered how any one could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth.
— Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights