Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.

Tag Archive for ‘Elizabeth Weaver’


They split you apart before you could speak, for your eyes and your lips were his eyes and his mouth; I wanted your love, I wanted to love you, but you were Narcissus so I never existed.   Your eyes and your lips were his eyes and his mouth, the result and reminder of a seven-day rape. Since you were Narcissus I never existed except as a mirror reflecting your […]

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Church Visits

Your drawl rich as poppies We brought you this poinsettia— would you like it in your room? introduces you and your children to my mom who smiles as she tries to remember if she knows you, dementia shredding whole stands of friends each night.   Where would you like me to put it? No directive in your mist of questions, knowing Alzheimer’s has already clear-cut her choices. Then you sit […]

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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 […]

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