In Memory of Kelsey

My friend died.
She was beautiful.
I'll remember her forever.

Oh please, this girl was getting stoned
on my couch every day, run down in her boyfriend's boxers,
burning through whatever would make a burn mark
on the cushions of our plastered souls.
She was trash, the type dumpster divers live for,
because, baby, she had status in the standing.
Smoke tendrils for hair and heroin still in her bloodstream,
she practically burnt through the velvet-lined coffin.
In a second, somebody slaps wings on her from
salvation army and calls her an angel [of the side steam smoke].
Please, if redemption is getting whacked up against a window shield --
which, reassurances made, she helped boys do many times --
then sign me up for the skydive-ride.

She told me I was beautiful.
But you have no idea -
she was really, really beautiful.
It burns.

Fuck it, she was dead the second
angel dust sent a halo down to
New Jersey. She should be honored
that down here we cook our roadkill
before we sit down to eat.

I'm sorry about your friend. We suffered a loss here last week as well.

I'm not going to crit this.

But instead offer my condolences.

Meg

Some really beautiful, poignant language in here, gummy... I would quote favorite parts, but then I'd end up quoting most of the poem.

I'm very sorry. You'll be in my prayers.

Erm... isn't that part of the poem? If not, my apologies. But you use the bold type later so...

Anyway, I thought this was very graphic, in a good way. I'm useless with poetry, so sorry, I can't offer you any advice.

I figured it was part of the poem, but since it was titled "In Memory of Kelsey" and had so much raw emotion in it, it felt like a eulogy of sorts and I couldn't bring myself to criticize anything about it.

While the continuence of the word "burn" throughout the poem was pretty cool, I have to point out the third line of stanza two as being a little much. I'm loving the "burnt through the velvet-lined coffin" image.

In a second, somebody slaps wings on her from
salvation army and calls her an angel [of the side steam smoke].

Line break seems a bit awkward here, but fixing it seems a little difficult. Perhaps...

In a second, somebody slaps wings on her back
from salvation army and calls her an angel [of the side steam smoke].

I don't even know what you're trying to say in the bracketed part.

I'm trying to figure out the point of the last stanza. You could omit it altogether, but ending with the bolded stanza is rather abrupt, and I must admit the "bookending" effect is mildly irritating. It's up to you, I suppose.

All that being said, I'd like to offer my condolences as well. This is a beautiful poem, and I'm sure your friend deserves every word.

Wow...that all I can say. I love it, thats for sure. But I'm also sorry for your loss. You are a good writer though, even in times of sadness, which can be hard. I know from experience. There has been 5 deaths at my school in the last two years...three of them close friends of mine. Its the darn alcohol and cold snowy weather dangit. Keep it safe, it will all get better soon. Hang in there.

First, let me say you have my condolensces.

NOW, onto the critique!

First, I REALLY REALLY REALLY liked the imagery. I reminded me why I first started poetry. The repettion was good, if bland at times, but towards the end it got over the top. All the other "bad" things have really been said already. I really liked the idea of the bolded and unbolded type, kind of emphasizing either two sides of the same person saying this, or two different people. Very nice.

I like how the bolded stuff was so typical and the normal stuff was told in an intense manner which was also fairly gripping. Though I know you like flowy poetry, I think I like your grittier stuff better.

xanthan_gum--


An irrational act rendered in irrational prose.

You've done much better than this little ditty. The poem says (I suppose metaphorically) that you have ceased to apply your hand to some unnamed endeavor. Van Gogh cut off his ear, but he could still paint. The speaker here has made a more substantial and immediate sacrifice.

Cool, but what is it in this poem that should make me care?


Best,
Brad