The short, fragmented stanzas and minimalist line lengths create a delicate, pauses-filled rhythm that beautifully reflects the physical experience of grief. The space on the page feels almost like a tangible part of the emotion—the pauses between lines are like deep breaths, making images like ‘a dark mask / pulled tight, / slits / for the eyes, tongue, / and grief’ hit with vivid clarity. The imagery in the middle movement is truly remarkable. Comparing unlived or numb days to ‘film / left unprinted’ and noting that ‘we move so lightly through it / the dead feel ashamed for us’ is a wonderful reflection on emotional distance and trauma. It eloquently expresses what it’s like to feel like a ghost in your own life.
When you were writing this piece, did the minimalist lineation and wide spacing come naturally as the emotion unfolded, or did you find yourself editing down to those quiet, deliberate pauses in later drafts?
Lineation comes very naturally for me. Just the breaths, as it all appears in my minds eye. No editing. I appreciate your read and the thoughtful comment Jay🖤
My favourite line. A stark but necessary reminder that also holds beauty. That the dead can be ashamed, perhaps envious, but made all the same mistakes in living as we do.
In ancient ritual the dead underwent several transformation before joining the Ancestors. It took time. So we grieve, in step with a lament fading below. Eventually the silence. Note perfect here.
Erin, to me, the quality of your poetry is the very definition of poetry. Fragmented, but crafting a whole holier than straightforwardness. It dances and reflects the light, resonating with a humanness so raw and relatable. Tender, aching, beautiful. Fresh and original and passionate.
The short, fragmented stanzas and minimalist line lengths create a delicate, pauses-filled rhythm that beautifully reflects the physical experience of grief. The space on the page feels almost like a tangible part of the emotion—the pauses between lines are like deep breaths, making images like ‘a dark mask / pulled tight, / slits / for the eyes, tongue, / and grief’ hit with vivid clarity. The imagery in the middle movement is truly remarkable. Comparing unlived or numb days to ‘film / left unprinted’ and noting that ‘we move so lightly through it / the dead feel ashamed for us’ is a wonderful reflection on emotional distance and trauma. It eloquently expresses what it’s like to feel like a ghost in your own life.
When you were writing this piece, did the minimalist lineation and wide spacing come naturally as the emotion unfolded, or did you find yourself editing down to those quiet, deliberate pauses in later drafts?
Lineation comes very naturally for me. Just the breaths, as it all appears in my minds eye. No editing. I appreciate your read and the thoughtful comment Jay🖤
‘the white trees
flowered over our heads too.’
My favourite line. A stark but necessary reminder that also holds beauty. That the dead can be ashamed, perhaps envious, but made all the same mistakes in living as we do.
Truer words…thank you Weather🖤
This line stayed with me:
we move so lightly through it
the dead feel ashamed for us.
Wonderful, Erin!
Thank you Nora🖤
I don't think I understood every image, but somehow I understood the feeling. That's rare. Loved itt!
Even better! Thank you Amoeba🖤
"Birds sang in the upper branches" a nice line to end a richly vivid poem. 🫶🏻🪄 Interesting read.
“we move so lightly through it
the dead feel ashamed for us.”
We do not know the extravagance of the beauty we are in.
My favorite line and I love the photo.
Thank you Deanna!
In ancient ritual the dead underwent several transformation before joining the Ancestors. It took time. So we grieve, in step with a lament fading below. Eventually the silence. Note perfect here.
Thank you Brendan💚
Spare and concise, like a scalpel. No gilding of lilies needed. So beautiful 💜
Thank you Matty. Blade-like is my goal, so I’m glad it came across!
Someone ought to feel ashamed, let it be the dead. My mind instantly painted green parrots. Fuck knows why. Excellente sister x
I won’t question the parrots OR your mind ever. Green parrots are just steeped in symbology-and it lines up💚
Erin, to me, the quality of your poetry is the very definition of poetry. Fragmented, but crafting a whole holier than straightforwardness. It dances and reflects the light, resonating with a humanness so raw and relatable. Tender, aching, beautiful. Fresh and original and passionate.
Ani, this is the kindest comment, thank you so much 🙏
ohhhhh....this reminded me of Virginia Woolf's biography Orlando.....
Thank you for reading, I am going to find that piece and investigate♥️
i hope you love that book the way i do :)
After the hurt.
Thank you!
hauntingly ….. Erin
Thank you Mike
Beautiful
♥️