i'll be back,

but you really couldn't post this earlier so i could nominate D:<

Sai... I could be lost in this piece! This is too long for my instincts but wow how you pulled me in! Is this a normal slip of the tongue one poetic time in your life?

I am tempted to say you are mad... This piece is just mad as well. :-)

I loved it and made me breathless all throughout.

P. S. It seems you have found a best friend (Mark) and the way both of you spill out words beautifully makes me understand why. Ahem. :-)

Sai, fascinating write. You gave me a glimpse of you. I see that in all your writes, and I thank you for that. Some people shy away from showing their true selves. I never feel that way with yours. Well done-

part 1/2

I'm splitting this up randomly, so bear with me.

"It took me an unhealthy amount of the afternoon
to put my hair into a plait.
I say to myself: I have my life figured out
as I run a finger across the bumpy surface of my handiwork."

I really like the imagery in this, the subtle symbolism adds layers to this as well. You’re already opening this poem with the theme of reconciliation (which makes sense, given the title). You’re literally braiding words into something beautiful, it’s amazing.

“The sensation resurrects in me
the feeling of smooth pebbles that have been laid out in a straight line
by a nervous but no-longer-trembling mind.
I have my life figured out:
I've deleted the sad songs from my phone,
my clothes are dry.”

Again, I appreciate the subtle symbolism; smooth pebbles being endurance (once porous, rough rocks endured the licking sea and became polished as a reward for being resilient), dry clothes representing safety. What I found interesting to note is the deletion of the sad songs, music plays a big role for a lot of people and has the power to reinforce or even reintroduce them to certain moods, it’s a meaningful & purposeful gesture.

“They smell like flowers that have been crushed to dreadful pulps by a toddler
but between 1 and 1:30pm, I came undone again.
What would it smell like
if I took my grief out into the yard and spread it atop
the body of a collapsed tree, pounded it
to a pulp with my fists, all the while screaming internally?
I have my life figured out, I say to myself.”

I can’t help but hang on the words ‘crushed to dreadful pulps by a toddler’, were they crushed out of sheer curiosity, or in anger, or ruined by the toddler ‘playing’? It’s interesting to note the different connotations associated with the options, and whether it ties in with the narrator does the same for similar or opposite reasons. I think it’s a way of likening the narrator to a toddler in some form.

“My screensaver is of a glaring sun.
Behind it, you could barely make out a smudge that is my dog
in mid-circle,
mid-wagging his tail,
mid-sniffing a particular spot
on the warm ground.”

Toby? This is just a collection of verses of warmth, and it’s wonderful.

“You criticise the quality of the photo,
the distasteful tilt, the awkward colours -
all sharp and elbows.
You ask me why
and I tell you about a day
that wasn't sticky
when it was supposed to be; the weatherman
did announce last night.
I tell you about the leaves
that are turning brown but only around the edges,
about the petals
at my feet like there was a wedding
like I was meant to be happy.”

Now, I can’t help but hang on ‘the leaves that are turning brown but only around the edges’ in this portion. Is it the cusp of fall creeping in slowly, or are the leaves turning brown from disease? I really like this portion as well, it builds on top of the earlier part and it’s just, wholesome? I think that’s the best word to describe this part, it’s wholesome, making the most of a day that wasn’t supposed to be.

“And to tell you the truth,
I was that day.
Maybe content is a more accurate word, less of the rotten taste birthing in my mouth
when I say it.
Anyway, I wrote poetry. The kind that talked about purple skies
and birds with charcoal for wings
yet they flew to the top of skyscrapers,
built their nest with brightly-hued pieces of plastic that used to contain sweets,
and all the cigarette butts you flicked
onto a foot of a bus stop sign on your way home within the past year.”

You know what, I think this is the crux of the poem; it’s absolutely well-written and there’s so much emotion and meaning packed in each verse. ‘purple skies’ are symbolism of incoming storms, and ‘charcoal’ is spent substance, so the birds being able to fly, is another symbolism of endurance (much like the smoothened pebbles), and their nests as well. The ability to thrive with such little, is astounding. The level of detail in the last couple of verses is astonishing.