Skip to main content

The Small Holes

 Sharing with The Sunday Muse #247.


it's the season of putting away the angels
we have tissue paper for the delicate wings
but the solid bodies get a brief sheet
paint and plaster chips are the years' way,
the mouse way, of marking use
the putting out and the taking down
any accidents that happen in season
store remembrance in the small holes
bitten in the sacred
while it looks the other way

-- Chrissa

Comments

  1. Carrie BurttFebruary 19, 2023 at 7:07 AM

    Life is like that...the putting away...the trying to protect...and that last line is amazing Chrissa! Another amazing poem my friend!

    ReplyDelete
  2. AngelaFebruary 19, 2023 at 8:43 AM

    Beautifully written Chrissa <3

    ReplyDelete
  3. Gillena CoxFebruary 19, 2023 at 10:44 AM

    Nice one Chrissa. In every era of our life yes we store but some we throw away.

    Thanks for dropping by my blog today

    Much❤love

    ReplyDelete
  4. FireblossomFebruary 19, 2023 at 12:58 PM

    My mother was the sort who believed that everything from jewels to can openers should last forever. I learned early not to break or damage anything on pain of drama.

    ReplyDelete
  5. qbitFebruary 19, 2023 at 5:58 PM

    "the small holes
    bitten in the sacred
    while it looks the other way" - Ohhhhh. That is so, so good.

    ReplyDelete
  6. JimFebruary 19, 2023 at 7:11 PM

    And repeated every year, come the season. This was enjoyable going through your procedure. It's a good thing to have recorded where, perhaps the cost of where the angel was purchased. For ages, 40 some years we used to top our tree an angel that Mrs. Jim had brought into our marriage. This year, maybe earlier, came a large pretty bow with an artificial red flower in the middle. I have a picture of it on my seasonal blog, "jim's little Christmas tree farm," for the December 10 posting.
    ..

    ReplyDelete
  7. purplepeninportland.comFebruary 25, 2023 at 5:29 PM

    "any accidents that happen in season
    store remembrance in the small holes
    bitten in the sacred"

    Wow!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Not Slacking, Just Writing

 So. My actual screensaver called me out today. Have I been writing much poetry? Is the doggerel below P O E T R Y? Yeah, probably not. However. The real story is that I'm working my way through a few stories for Camp NaNoWriMo. At almost halfway through the month, I'm still not sure what will end up under the pen on a day-by-day basis but I've added to several.  My reading has been similar. Lots of initial chapters or initial handful of chapters but very, very few final chapters completed. I'm thinking about taking a day and just clearing out my zine basket. Summer heat settled in early, so I haven't been doing any outdoor reading, but zines are pretty quick and I should be able to finish several while the squirrels raid the birdseed. :)  Hope you're having a good writing/reading summer! It must have been a movie, black and white, Watched when I was younger, maybe sick, Glancing between Mom cleaning and the screen. A father and his daughter in a lighthouse New ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Phalanxes

Phalanxes of plastic ducks: wizards, barbarians-- the occasional detective-- swirl in the giant conundrum. Plastic dolls (fashion dolls?), no judgement on brand or aisle or hair, especially now, hear the canard-verse via pathways laid down in heat, in formless transformations. They know the wars. They know the strategies. They know the tidal energies. Or so Mandy says, holding a damp doll by the hair, dripping on the carpet, sleepy as an oracle  fresh from a hot spring [or a bath] prophesying plastic. It's been a week since The Sunday Muse. And I'm working on the Indie Summer Read/Writeathon (currently reading Rocket Science  and enjoying the drama) and working on other projects...but I find that I'm missing my Sunday poetry. :)  -- Chrissa
Post a Comment
Read more

Fearsome by Survival

  Sharing today with T he Sunday Muse #189 , where Shay is hosting. Come and read and share a piece! On a web-white, wool-quiet morning I found the girl our stories gave us The one who survived She wore the meadow, carded and sewn Long since burned for field Still, she knew me Her stories named me fierce, feral She might have feared  The one who devours Neither of us spoke, patient at morning Breath, warmth, silence Innocent of power We know the stories kill us both We know that we become Fearsome by survival Hello and welcome. It's 67 degrees outside this morning and a warm December weekend might seem like the kind of thing that would prevent me from following through on a plan to hibernate with a good book for the rest of the weekend...but it's the doomscrolling that's run down the charge on my phone that's preventing me from doing that. Also, I may have developed an intolerance to long stretches of quiet during the past year and a half.  Anyway. Looking forward to r...
16 comments
Read more