In summer, a tan will embolden
marks of a faded despair.
Time tricked me once, and
marks of one time is on me, now
– forever they will likely stay,
hinting stories to strangers without permission,
troubling the traces of my lover’s fingertips.
Like a tragic tattoo of confession
I bear the crossed lines
of my troubled youths depression.
If you’ve followed my blog for a while, you might remember I attended a poetry course with Rommi Smith last year. I published this poem (link here) from one of the sessions.
Today I wanted to share with you this personal poem that came out of a short exercise inspired by ‘marks’. It came inspired by a beautiful poem by James Caruth called Marking the Lambs. I wanted to play with the idea of certain periods of time leaving marks on us, and physical ones that outlast the feelings of the time they came from.
Read aloud if you can, as always. Many blessings.