counting stoplights in oregon.

she aches

with the knowledge

of the empty spaces that exist

between her narrow fingers

the spaces, now chasms,

where once

they were the bridge

to her other soul

Reviews

[Crowley]

I saw that I haven't reviewed this but, as soon as I started reading it I heard your voice in my head....it is equally good both ways for sure. The title really lends an element of loneliness, but maybe not bad. Kind of like when I go to open presents with my kids on Christmas morning and there is absolutely no traffic in a city of 5 million people. But the words of the poem beckon a second guessing of true nature I suppose, search for meaning or a choice with a tag end of a second regretful thought. Nice work, I really liked this.

[Tony]

Tuning in the SHhhhhhhhsound while tuning out the time between the endless stoplights bleeding down your windshield in the rain? sometimes KISWROCK comes in.....
Aw crap. eastern or western?
I don't have any idea what this really means but I like it anyway.

[c.m.]

the spaces, now chasms,
where once
they were the bridge
to her other soul

That is amazing, well worded and absolutely heart breaking. I really loved this poem...nice work.

[Antonio Valentino]

My family lives in Oregon, this makes me think of a ring of some significance that you miss being on your finger, for some guy who lives on the other side of the many bridges in Portland...

I know I'm not even close, but thats what it made me think of though :)

As always Jenn, truly enjoy your work.
Antonio xx

[Sweet_pale_cacophony]

I love this!1..there is an ache not only in her but also lingering in these words,so delicate and so beautiful.

[Periac]

a wonderful cloud of interpretation is here.....be it comfort....be it sadness....for i feel a great push to lonleyness

[miSS LEaf]

Jenny, this reminds me of my childhood habit; i used to travel with my family and along the way i kept my eyes on the right and left sides of the road, reading every letter i saw... :)

[Ed Hart]

the theme, of course, is almost generic here, but you cast your shadow of sadness with tight words and a solitary movement through space that reminds us all that we've counted other stoplights, possibly in the rain