Notes About The Poem
image from flowgpt.com
WAITING TO BE SEEN
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Whispers curl around the old doorframe~
not wind, but the edge of a spell
half-spoken, then left to dissolve
like sugar in cold tea.
The strings are everywhere~
puppet-master invisible,
tugging at kneecaps and eyelids,
weaving through the ribs of old houses
where the walls hum with names
scratched out by thumbs.
Forgotten things don’t stay buried~
they surface in the hollows of pockets,
in the creak of a stair that remembers
the weight of someone
who no longer exists.
The spell maker’s hands are empty now,
but the air still tastes of ginger and rust.
The strings grow slack, then tighten~
a noose, a cradle, a net.
And the forgotten?
They lean in, breathless,
waiting to be seen.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
