Edit A Poem With Me

THE BREAKERS

So this poem. I’ve been working on it all day. It’s time to share it, even though I know a lot will happen to it later. It’s a hard poem.

I shared this earlier, then read it to my husband, and considered what needed to be done to make the poem work. I am going to edit this, here on Substack, until the poem is what it should be.

THIRD EDIT--I thought I would be doing the polishing on this third edit, but it turns out I did a lot more. The poem is still distilling, so I made a lot of changes. Let me know what you think.

SECOND EDIT--the poem is very different. I wonder if I have stripped it too bare. There is a part of me, mostly expressed on Substack, that wants more language, not less. But in this edit, I have taken a paring knife to it. But do you think?

FIRST EDIT--First off, I was writing a poem when this poem about my father came, and I tried to squash the two poems into each other. In this first edit, I have thrown over the original poem and here is what I came up with; scroll down to see the original.


SECOND EDIT

The Breakers

I sit beside my father
watching his chest
rising and falling

I want to leave
I want to spring up and
run away

I can't stop 
mulling over
his hard hat
his steel lunch pail
his fingers drumming
the table
my tiny body 
snuggling 
into his chest
hard as the earth
hard as stone

There is a wall clock

tick tock
tick tock

I remind myself 
to breathe
in, out
in, out

He is passing through 
these last days
like a ghost
mostly sleeping~

tick tock
tick tock

My father’s oxygen
has been turned up.
I’m under water 
wondering if 
I can surface again

tick tock

I want to 
get up 
walk out
and start
forgetting him

I want to be free from
him

tick tock

He is a roaring river
crashing into me
over and over
relentless
receding
my little girl hands 
reaching for 
my his hands 
to pull me up 
before I am 
swept away.

tick tock

tick 
tock

His enormous hands
shuffling cards 
rolling dice 

tick 
tock

his golden 
belt buckle
his speckled 
brown shirt

tick 

tock

Suddenly he says, 
"There’s my Beck"
I say, "Daddy"

He reaches his hand
over to mine

His fingers
intwine 
with my fingers.

All my breath
gathers 
and holds still.

We are standing 
on the beach
fifty-five years ago
the breakers crashing
towards us.

He scoops me up
and tosses me
far out
into the sea.


The Breakers

I sit beside my father
watching his chest
rising and falling
mulling over the past~

a hard hat
a steel lunch pail
his fingers drumming
the table
my tiny body 
snuggling 
into his chest.

He is passing through 
these last days
like a ghost
mostly sleeping~

thick black boots
a brown spotted shirt
his arms cradling
my first born.

There is a wall clock

tick tock
tick tock

I remind myself to breathe
in, out.

tick tock
tick tock

My father’s oxygen
has been turned up.
I’m under water 
and it’s time 
to surface.

tick tock.

I want nothing more 
than to get up 
and walk out
so I can begin 
to forget him.

tick tock

He is a roaring river
crashing into me
over and over
my little girl hands 
reaching for 
my his hands 
to pull me up 
before I am 
swept away.

tick 

tock

tick 

tock

His enormous hands
shuffling cards, 
rolling dice 
pitching hay into the loft
changing the spark plugs
on the old pickup.

tick 

tock

tick 



tock

Suddenly he says, 
There’s my Beck.
I say, Daddy.

He reaches his hand
over to mine.

His fingers
intwine 
with my fingers.

All my breath
gathers 
and holds still.

We are standing 
on the beach
fifty-five years ago
the breakers crashing
towards us.

He scoops me up
and tosses me
far out
into the sea.


Polishing Stones in My Mouth

There is a space 
between breaths 
where a moment
pauses 
then sprints away
like a horse 
flickering
on a spool of
ancient film.

I am stuck fast
inside each moment
sitting silently
mulling over the past
as though I am
polishing rocks in
my mouth. 

I sit beside my father
in his medical bed
watching the nurses 
come and go
watching his chest
rising and falling.

He is passing through 
these last days
like a ghost
mostly sleeping
while finite iterations
of him skulk their way
toward the grave.

There is a wall clock
ticking
tick tock
tick tock

Breathe in, 
breathe out

tick tock

breathe
breathe.

My father’s oxygen
has been turned up
my breath is shallow
like I’m under water 
and it’s time 
to come up.

Tick 
tock.


I want nothing more than to 
get up and walk out
so I can begin to forget him
right away 
so I can 
spit out these stones
and build a new house
on top of his bones.
so I can be free.
so I can 
swallow again.

My father’s withering body
is hanging inside my body
on the coat hooks
in the old house
in the living room
in the afternoon
only a shadow.
like a shadow
like the sun slanting
through the window 
slowly staining 
the sofa.

I remember him 
in dreams
He is a
roaring river
crashing into me
over and over
my hands reaching for 
my daddy’s hands 
to pull me up 
before I am swept away

My daddy 

tock tock

Suddenly
he says, Beck
I say, Daddy.

He reaches his hand
over to mine.

This, 
I think,
will mean something

This is when 
My heart  
will blossoms
the river in me
choked with funeral
lilies.
like the enormous 
wreaths at the funeral home
drooping under the weight
of the lilies.

His fingers
and my fingers
clasping
He clasps my
fingers with his fingers
we are suspended
together
held fast inside
the breath 
I am holding.

It is only us

We are
standing on the beach
fifty-five years ago
the breakers crashing
towards us.

He scoops me up
and with the full force 
of his final breath
pushes me
far out
into the sea.




FIRST EDIT--

Polishing Stones in My Mouth

There is a space 
between breaths 
where a moment
pauses 
then sprints away
like a horse 
flickering
on a spool of
ancient film.

I sit beside my father
in his medical bed
watching the nurses 
come and go
watching his chest
rising and falling.

He is passing through 
these last days
like a ghost
mostly sleeping
while finite iterations
of him skulk their way
toward the grave.

I am stuck fast
inside each moment
sitting silently
mulling over the past
as though I am
polishing rocks in
my mouth. 

My father’s withering body
is hanging inside my body
on the coat hooks
in the old house
in the living room
in the afternoon
like a shadow
like the sun slanting
through the window 
slowly staining 
the sofa.

I remember him 
in dreams
a roaring river
crashing into me
over and over
my hands reaching for 
my daddy’s hands 
to pull me up 
before I am swept away

There is a wall clock
ticking.

I want nothing more than to 
get up and walk out
so I can begin to forget him
right away 
so I can 
spit out these stones
and build a new house
on top of his bones.

Breathe in, breathe out
tick tock
tick tock
breathe.

My father’s oxygen
has been turned up
my breath is shallow
like I’m under water 
and it’s time 
to come up.

My daddy reaches his hand
over to mine.

This, 
I think,
will mean something

This is when my feelings 
will blossom
like the enormous 
wreaths at the funeral home
drooping under the weight
of the lilies.

But there is only
his fingers
and my fingers
clasping
together inside
the breath 
I am holding.

It is only us
standing on the beach
fifty-five years ago
the breakers crashing
towards us.

He scoops me up
and with the full force 
of his final breath
pushes me
far out
into the sea.



EDITING NOW 9:41 pm the same day I posted it
The Space Between Breaths

Now is only 
now 

the space between breaths 
the place where
blue meets blue 
splashing down against 
a white quietness
then

evaporating.

Now is only 
now 

or so I'm hearing 
so they keep saying
breathe in breathe out ~ 
one, two 
one, two
be one with the breath

which is nonsense of course
one cannot inhabit

now

one cannot hold still
inside this 
present tense.

They say the past does not exist 
the future does not exist
only this

now

gone

before I even 
notice it

not even until 
the end of the breath
does it last
sprinting away
like horses flickering
on a spool of
ancient film.

~ ~ ~ 

My father is passing
through these last days
like a ghost
he lies in
the nursing home bed
while finite iterations
of him skulk their way
toward the grave.

I am stuck in time
mulling over the past
as though I am
polishing rocks in
my mouth. 

My father’s withering body
is hanging inside my body
on the coat hooks
in the old house
in the living room
in the afternoon
like a shadow
like the sun slanting
through the window 
slowly staining 
the sofa.

And the dumb sounds
of the dead house
the numb body
of the past 
muffles me.

Soon he will
be nothing 
but the past
burrowing inside me.

Tell me how something
that doesn’t exist
is flooding my body
inside this present 

moment

like a roaring river
crashing into me
over and over
my hands reaching for 
my daddy’s hands 
to pull me up 
before I am swept away

~ ~ ~ ~ 

I want nothing more than to 
get up and walk out
so I can begin to forget him
right away 
so I can 
spit out these stones
and build a new house
on top of his bones.

I want it to end
I want the full stop
of the train smashing 
into the abyss 
I want the abyss
to swallow us 

~ ~  ~ ~

now, now, now

breath in, breath out

breathe 
breathe

my father’s oxygen
has been turned up
my breath is shallow
like I’m under water 
and it’s time 
to come up.

~ ~ ~  ~

I have lived 
1,923,696,000 seconds
none of which remains
not even now, 

now is always going

poof!

An intake of insuffient air ~
that's all I'll be in the end
my father's memoires
inhaibtaing me like
parasites rooting
for a way to survive.

The pastures are going 
back to scrub pine
the old home place
surrounded by drooping sheds
has already
fallen in.

~ ~ ~ ~ 

My daddy reaches his hand
over to mine.

This, 
I think,
will mean something

this is when my feelings 
will blossom
like the enormous 
wreaths at the funeral
drooping under the weight
of the lilies.

This 

now 

is only
his fingers
and my fingers
clasping
together inside
the breath 
I am holding.

And we are standing
on the beach
fifty-five years ago
the breakers crashing
towards us

He scoops me up
and tosses me
far out
into the sea.