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Rock Jar
“If only
I had a container,” she said-
the woman with marbled cellulite
on the back of her legs,
“this isn’t sand,
they’re shells.”
The shadows here melt
into the clear spikes of the seagrass
as the sun sets.
It is a painting where translucent ocean
is pockmarked with the brushstrokes of waves
and the lighthouse is perfect
and far away.
I find the woman’s obesity intriguing
(and repulsive) like a bizarre plant that grows
in ways that I do not understand.
(I shudder at my own judgmental thoughts.)
She wished to collect the beach,
this island,
in a jar like a drink to relish another day.
But I know
that it is not in the shells
in which one may store this place-
only in the stones.
They do not drain of beauty when deprived
of salt sunlight
the way shells do.
I wonder if she knows that.
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This is elegant and lovely
This is elegant and lovely and feels good to read.
katy-
I appreciate the comment.
I am not particularly proud of this poem... almost didn't post it. The flow bothered me, it felt somewhat bland... I dunno.
What parts did you like? And did you dislike any parts? I would love feedback, because I'm not really happy with it yet.
Thank you again!
Ͼirce
Circe
I like the simplicity of it. I like your imagery. I like that the lighthouse is "perfect and far away." I like your to-the-point descriptions and statements, such as, "I find the woman’s obesity intriguing/ (and repulsive) like a bizarre plant that grows/ in ways that I do not understand." I like the careful, measured ending. I like how you took a simple moment and presented it to us and let it be, no lofty flourishing or further explanations. I like it a lot.
katy,
Thank you. :) Perhaps I will let it be then. I'm still not sure what part of it bothers me, but I am very glad you like it.
Ͼirce