Our Collected Confessions

[This is for a class, so any feedback is appreciated.]

My mother hoards our confessions
and locks them behind steel-plated doors.
She stashes them in pink piggy banks
like the one my youngest sister owns;
the tokens, forgotten and spotted with grime,
are collected from the floor. They
are subjected to chemicals,
oxidized with a blue-green patina
and strewn about by a pigeon lady
who feeds them to inner demons.

When these creatures are released from
their vault, we vaguely recall
their former selves. Perhaps their faces
have been rubbed out or the date
of their making is a bit smudged.
When the reaping time comes, when these
monsters spring out of our closets
and from beneath our beds,
my siblings and I protect ourselves
by sticking close together,
and right to their ugly noses,
disavow any knowledge
of their disingenuous existence.

I liked it, but I'm not entirely sure why. I loved the continual metaphor between confessions and money, and how it was rejected at the end... it was perfect. I'm just trying to understand it and it's being difficult for me. XD Why would a mother hold confessions...? I kept thinking, "She has their dreams, she's crushing them," then I would go back and see that no she has their confessions. It confuses me.

But despite that, I still like it. It's simple, but it works that way, and it has a lot behind it. Well written. I just wish I could pick it a part more, but I suppose I'm not so keen tonight. I'll have to read it tomorrow morning and see what I think.

I really really like this poem here, putting money and demons together made this really fun to read. Plus, when I was reading it aloud, it had a little sing-song quality to it, which just made me giggle XD

I like the imagery you have here, but it seems almost haphazard at times. For example, in the first stanza, the old tokens collect on the floor, but immediately following, they're subjected to chemical cleaning, which seems contradictory: are they sitting forgotten or being restored? [EDIT: oh, I see; missed the "they are collected" the first time 'round. Though that is a rather long sentence/train of thought; I'd suggest putting a period or semicolon in somewhere to make ideas more distinct.]

I think you use too many words in places. Here's what I'd suggest:

My mother hoards our confessions
[s]and locks them[/s] behind steel-plated doors.
She stashes them in pink piggy banks
like the one my youngest sister owns;
the tokens, forgotten and spotted with grime,
are collected from the floor[s]. They
are [/s]subjected to chemicals,
oxidized with a blue-green patina
and strewn about by a pigeon lady
who feeds them to inner demons.

When these creatures are released from
their vault, we vaguely recall
their former selves. [<-- This whole sentence sounds a little strange; almost too obvious/tangible after the first stanza] Perhaps their faces
have been rubbed out or the date
of their making is a bit smudged. [same here, almost prose-like slapped in the middle of abstraction]
When the reaping time comes, when these
monsters spring out of our closets
and [s]from[/s] beneath our beds,
my siblings and I protect ourselves
by sticking close together,
and right to their ugly noses,
disavow any knowledge
of their disingenuous existence. [why would the narrator and his/her siblings need to protect themselves from a monster they only deny exists?]

I love the very first two lines! Very nice. By the second stanza, however, it almost seemed like you lost where you were trying to go with everything. I think if the first stanza were to bleed into the second stanza a little more, it might be easier to get through.

I really enjoyed reading this; it's a great metaphor and you expressed it nicely. I just see two problems with it; it's taken too far, and I don't think you expressed its meaning enough.

Meaning. I understand what you're saying about the confessions, but I'm not entirely sure I understand their significance. Obviously, they're important to the mother and the children fear them; but why does the mother collect them? If the children fear them so much, why do they offer them up?

Metaphor.

My mother hoards our confessions
and locks them behind steel-plated doors.
She stashes them in pink piggy banks
like the one my youngest sister owns;
the tokens, forgotten and spotted with grime,
are collected from the floor. They
are subjected to chemicals,
oxidized with a blue-green patina
and strewn about by a pigeon lady
who feeds them to inner demons.

This entire stanza is an example of what I mean by "taking the metaphor too far." To say, "Life is like a box of chocolates" is just dandy, but if you start going into what each chocolate means, like a walnut chocolate is like love but a caramel one means you're in a sticky situation, that's just annoying. You can cut a lot of these parts out; I vote the piggy banks and the chemicals off the poetry island. Keep the pigeon lady bit, that's much better. Great image.

Keep working on it!
-Colleen

Lol. Colleen, I simply love the way you get your point across. Your advice is invaluable.

And thanks everyone else for the comments. They are extremely helpful.