Her Death
The knife went in
but didn’t come out
I tracked the pain
and point of entry
while half asleep
and half awake
While you were dreaming
of her body in the casket
and draining her blood
behind the funeral parlor
because no one else would do it
No one twisted it
No one cried
No one was stabbed in the back
The memory barely exists
but exacts a secret cost
like a baby’s wail
between the in and out breath
hangs silent in the air
It’s carried and passed on
sealed like a letter
just one in a stack
of Dear John complaints
that no one has the heart to read
________Colleen Redman / Poets United / Imaginary Garden with Real Toads
November 20th, 2016 8:51 am
The power of what is not said is so very painful and telling in this wonderful poem..
November 20th, 2016 9:53 am
I feel a knife twist in me as I read.
November 20th, 2016 9:54 am
a very touching poem…
November 20th, 2016 12:05 pm
There are ways to kill without a weapon.. The metaphor of knifes and backstabbing makes me think of verbal bullying and slander.
November 20th, 2016 12:42 pm
“It’s carried and passed on
sealed like a letter . . .”
I feel this. In romantic history, in racial memory, in metaphor, in empathy. Thank you.
November 20th, 2016 1:54 pm
This is excellent.
November 20th, 2016 2:23 pm
This is so touching!
November 20th, 2016 2:28 pm
So powerful, “carried and passed on / sealed like a letter……. that no one has the heart to read.”
November 20th, 2016 4:11 pm
I found your poem so deep and moving, I certainly enjoyed it. The opening stanza has so much imagery contained within.
November 20th, 2016 5:12 pm
Whoa. Chilling.
November 20th, 2016 9:12 pm
Holy crap! You are in the mountains 🙂 but you might as well be singin’ the blues in the Bayou.
That was an awesome piece. “…that no one has the heart to read”.
November 22nd, 2016 11:09 am
Just brilliant writing.
November 22nd, 2016 11:36 am
Your approach to this sad tale is quite unique. The final lines ring with a truth we may all understand only too well.
November 22nd, 2016 11:54 am
I feel a stab of something not unfamiliar there at the end…though there’s more here than meets the eye at first perusal, so I read…and read it again…
November 22nd, 2016 4:46 pm
Very powerful.
November 23rd, 2016 10:04 am
[…] 11. Read the poem about how the knife went in but didn’t come out and the pain tracked in a dream after my mother’s death that is carried and passed like a sealed letter of Dear John Complaints that no one has the heart to read HERE. […]
November 23rd, 2016 2:31 pm
Just one in a stack of Dear John complaints. Yowza, hard-hitting.