callouses

Heavyheavy in your arms, with love spilled red onto your sleeves--
my eyes are bound to the grim way you set your shoulders into the shovel,
and I hold myself close to the painter as he strokes glaze onto my irises,
readying me for hellfire;
I watch you as he does, thinking.

You carry me gently, caress limp hair with coarse fingers and
set me into the sounds of soil; gripping the sides of my shoulders with
rigor mortis fingers, there's a cross on my chest--
and I wonder why there isn't a god, why they haven't come and where the light is.
(Why is everything still so dark?)

Setting into ceramic and stone and sweet calcification,
I feel mindlessness settle under my breastbone and
I trust that you'll decorate the tips of my skin with petals,
even if they are only flowered guilts--
even if they aren't really for me at all.

I want to speak; I want to make
you promise that you'll bury me softly in your heart, so wicked and divine.
I want to live in the callouses I've left behind, broken and bleeding, and I want to
feel you wipe the tears away.

Hello! This poem was amazing. I loved the imagery that you put in it. The end line is great in a tragic sort of way, if you know what I mean. The poem sounds so sad and heart-wrenching but it draws the reader in. I do have one nit pick though, at the very beginning, I think there should be a break between both of the "heavy's" written there, possibly. Anyway, great job.

Oh, you're good. I enjoyed this. I don't think I've reviewed your poetry much? I've kind of been avoiding it, but recently I've decided to venture back in a bit, and I'm glad I found this.

Love the image of "love spilled red on your sleeves".

Setting into ceramic and stone and sweet calcification,
I feel mindlessness settle under my breastbone and
I trust that you'll decorate the tips of my skin with petals,
even if they are only flowered guilts--
even if they aren't really for me at all.

Besides the out-of-place wordiness of "calcification", which I think is unnecessarily technical and precise for the tone of this poem, this was by far my favorite stanza. The imagery, slight bitterness of the emotion-- I really love this. "Flowered guilts" is lovely, as is the line that comes after it.

want to live in the callouses I've left behind, broken and bleeding

I find the words "broken and bleeding" an odd choice here, since callouses in themselves don't really break or bleed-- it's the buildup characterizing hard work and toils, yes, but they don't physical bleed. If it was a particularly striking description I wouldn't mind the inaccuracy, but "broken and bleeding" isn't amazingly unique, so I think you'd benefit from substituting that with something more stimulating.

I like the "heavyheavy" part, although it's the only stylistic formatting you use in the poem. It doesn't particularly bother me, but I expected something like that to come back in rather than throwing it in once. Still, a minute point.

Anyway, altogether I thought this was great. A dead body, the mind still intact throughout the preparation for the coffin, analyzing a lover's (?) reaction to her/his death. An interesting concept, and one that was nicely subtle without being impossible to decipher-- I caught on the second time around, I think. Of course, I could be completely wrong, but that seemed to fit for me. PM me if you've got any questions or comments, and keep writing!

~Evi

Sorry. I believe I've already commented on this but what the hey.

Heavyheavy in your arms

*in a sing-songy voice* aDORE it!

<3