'and yet relish the steady flow of lungs and legs so significant against the wreckage of weeks in my way' Love that line right there- and your voice has a lovely cadence
Some days by Astrid Drew some mornings i'm a cement mixer twisting in the sheets fusion of salt, gravel and cuss words a mass of spoiled meat some days I am a dressed up wound wrapped in reams of gaure a gash in the fabric of living sore and aching some nights i stitch myself shut scrub raw with alcohol and call it clean, true, call it blank call the headache, "healing" Some mornings my eyes snap open Hours ahead of schedule I wait in the dim dawn and listen to the percussive cat running downstairs To the agony in my limbs, pleading for stilliness against the onslaught of day I wait and watch the room fill with light never quite reaching me. Some days I forget, for a moment, where I am: In the car driving to work my hands on the steering wheel are far away relics, artifacts of another life And yet they guide so reliably like a steady rope to a troublesome towboat in an rollicking sea Some nights I'm a gasping breath held in the hollow of my chest. One hand on my knotted stomach, another over mouth to muffle a scream waiting there to wake everyone and all of their questions. Most days I feel marooned in a country whose language I cannot speak Rendered mute, but still present I walk through cities like a ghost wincing from a casual touch, abrasive word and yet relish my steady flow of lungs and legs so significant against the wreckage of weeks in my wake This world is magnificent and crushing Some mornings there's a curious clarity as leaves tuck perennial plants into bed, where winter feels peaceful And I'm reminded that death can be quiet can be soft, can be rest, can be safe. And surely those I love, having slipped beneath the surface of the earth Are ok, It's ok and it's not quite time yet to join them.
That last line really delivers an emotional lunch. Thanks for this.
'and yet relish the steady flow of lungs and legs so significant against the wreckage of weeks in my way'
Love that line right there- and your voice has a lovely cadence
this was perfect timing, words I recognise and needed to hear today. Thank you Astrid.
Amazing. Beautiful. Sharply familiar. Reassuring.
Thank you very much for reading this poem.🙏
Wow that ending. Thank you, what a beautiful poem
I love the specificity and yet broad applicability this poem has to so many humans.
Yes to all of this.
This is great. Reminds me of the Regina spektor song by the same name. On bad days I tell myself some days aren't yours at all.
Thank you, Astrid. One of the best ever on this channel.
I was absolutely in love with the imagery in this poem - so beautifully written, Astrid. Thank you.
this is so beautiful
Some days by Astrid Drew
some mornings i'm a cement mixer
twisting in the sheets
fusion of salt, gravel and cuss words
a mass of spoiled meat
some days I am a dressed up wound
wrapped in reams of gaure
a gash in the fabric of living
sore and aching
some nights i stitch myself shut
scrub raw with alcohol
and call it clean, true, call it blank
call the headache, "healing"
Some mornings my eyes snap open
Hours ahead of schedule
I wait in the dim dawn and
listen to the percussive cat running downstairs
To the agony in my limbs, pleading
for stilliness against the onslaught of day
I wait and watch the room fill with light
never quite reaching
me.
Some days I forget, for a moment, where I am:
In the car driving to work
my hands on the steering wheel
are far away relics, artifacts of another life
And yet they guide so reliably
like a steady rope to a troublesome towboat
in an rollicking sea
Some nights I'm a gasping breath
held in the hollow of my chest.
One hand on my knotted stomach,
another over mouth to muffle a scream
waiting there to wake everyone
and all of their questions.
Most days I feel marooned in a country
whose language I cannot speak
Rendered mute, but still present
I walk through cities like a ghost
wincing from a casual touch, abrasive word
and yet relish my steady flow of lungs and legs
so significant against the wreckage of weeks in my wake
This world is magnificent and crushing
Some mornings there's a curious clarity
as leaves tuck perennial plants into bed,
where winter feels peaceful
And I'm reminded that death can be quiet
can be soft, can be rest, can be safe.
And surely those I love, having slipped
beneath the surface of the earth
Are ok, It's ok
and it's not quite time yet
to join them.
Someone should try to adapt this poem to the song “Some Nights” by Fun..
Don't be so insecure, nobody cares that you write imperfectly, this is the Internet and even better this is a very sweet snd caring comment section
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