Deep Blue Waters

I’m going to share a poem I wrote a few weeks ago. It’s Valentine’s Day. I want to share this poem about love. As you can see I didn’t put a title yet. I revised it and put the date. I kept track of when I revised it because Toby taught me to keep track of my progress in writing. She has been an important person to me in so many ways over the past 5 years. She was my teacher in the Red Cedar Project. Toby Kahn-Loftus. A name with distinction and I’m proud to know her.

Elizabeth gave me the book that inspired me for my birthday in January. Excellent book, if you love to read. (and if you don’t, maybe her writing will let you in on what you may be missing)

Good books don’t directly give you a plan for writing. They just make you think, feel and if you write- it begins. When Shafak talked about a “wall” on pg. 128 of Black Milk, the feelings started and I wrote.

When I write often cry, dream, escape into a world of myself. It directs itself. Usually when I really get going and feel compelled to write in a certain way the crying stops and I feel relief. Nothing I can pinpoint, just a relief I am able to create and put a part of myself into something to have it make sense. I can’t say, “I’m going to write about love and a wall is a good place to start”. I didn’t begin this poem with the feeling of love at all. It was a feeling of sorrow and abandonment. Of being denied love, and of me escaping the pain by walking away.

The picture of the old wall is in Istanbul. If I look up the exact historical importance of it I won't publish this post. So, another time. I know when I walked by this wall the Bosphorus was just across the street from it.

title: M.M. 1-15-2012

Revised 1-29-2012

Inspired from page 128 of Black Milk, by Elif Shafak

Translated by Hande Zapsu,

Alone I walk.

The sun rises.

But I catch no glimpse.

A wall stand between me and the light.

The wall shadow haunts me.

In front of my footsteps it drapes

waiting to catch me,

Trip me.

With a heavy heart I look up.

I can’t see over, but my heart effortlessly proceeds up and over.

Where are you?

No use.

You’ve created a fortress wall.

Bit by bit you reinforce it,

You let time help you with your work.

You are careful to manipulate, push, smooth.

Each tiny crack you search out with your hands.

My heart can see.

Your strong hands are wet with clay.

Each finger dripping with the gray, damp, filler.

Encrusted with denial.

I can hear you move across the stones

Smooth, touching, scratchy sounds.

Your hands encircling as you work.

Molding, sculpting.

You orchestrate each move.

It won’t work,

Your fantasy seeps through

Even as you try to fashion and design.

You can’t stop your hot blood as it flows through you.

It rushes through even as you move to erase me.

Your senses betray you, don’t lie.

You’re caressing me.

You feel my neck,

My shoulder and breast as you stroke.

The light touch.

Sliding down, back.

Up again.

No, I won’t go with you.

I will my heart slowly retrace its path back over the wall.

I feel the cold again, the dark.

I have to move, I have to walk toward the corner.

No lonely banging my forehead against the stone.

Can you hear my steps?

Are you reaching for more clay,

Or are you running to the corner where the wall ends?