Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.


I want you in my home so I know you’re not alone
in the shadows of those long halls paced by the lost—
dementia scouring their last stains of memory
more than safe
I want you to feel safe
yet I’m drowning in this
deep dank sog of lung
rain waterfalls from every leaf under a canopy-darkened sky
as distant shouts urge me to find my way back since I’ve
unwrapped and dropped the safety rope from my waist
so I could reach you, my cells having replicated yours
when you were my rope to life—for that I worshipped
you till the god Hormones descended
but now I grasp our cord again and I stumble over
elephantine roots, machete through plants so large
dinosaurs must exist on this swampy earth—
my lungs matching each suck of mud,
every breath like drowning yet I won’t release our
taut line twined with ash and splotched with dark red wine
like our blood though your wit’s still quicker and
memory better for the inconsequential
years ago I severed, burned, flung this rope over the cliff
yet once more it’s seared to my palm, seared and
tangled as worry as I reach for you in dreams and wake,
unable to rest or breathe for want of you
Elizabeth Weaver came to writing through poetry yet is currently focused on completing a novel, the main character of which has a photoblog. Some of Elizabeth’s writing and visual art can be viewed on as well as 5AM and dirtcakes.

Categories: Mental Health, Poetry, Themed

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

4 replies

  1. Thank you, Kathryn. Your art is beautiful. I especially love the seahorses.

  2. This is so powerful and evocative and moving. It communicates so much on so many levels. Thank you for writing it.


  1. Soaked | Elizabeth Weaver

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s