Keepsake

Keepsake

 

 

angry skin reacts

from abrasive touch

even though a soft heart

embraces the pain,

with abiding love

 

the nature of unselfishness

comes at a cost

a bruise, a fall

a life

 

angry skin reacts

because it understands

no amends can be made

for what won't mend

 

compliance of a pliant will

and acid acrimony 

toward matrimony

leaves one

 

angry skin remembers

even as the worms nestle close

to the skeletal finger

still wearing the ring

 

that came at such a cost.

 

 

erin-cilberto

9/21/19

Reviews

[Lorry]

It is funny that the pattern rarely rouses enough suspicion for us to even realise that we are absently scratching that angry keepsake so often Jacob.
I vaguely recall from a long ago class being told that the fingerprint part of our skin can feel something about 30 times thinner than a human hair. Then I grew up, fell in love and realised just how much the rest of our skin can feel that puts our fingertips to shame.
I was once bruised from an irate stare I didn't even see. 😀

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i am glad i wrote this piece...it was worth it just to get your very perceptive and interesting review...which is better than the poem itself.
oh those fingertips...as i hit the keys now, i am thinking of what you said and how my fingerprints are touching them.
j.

[Lorry]

She had better senses than me. She could feel what I was thinking from another zip code 😀

[John the Baptist]

I believe we are viewing the endgame of an abusive relationship here. One partner was unselfish and compliant in the face of anger and violence. The last lines reveal the outcome of that unequal contest. Sad, but an apt description of too many relationships.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your kind words, John,
j.

[@_av_poetry]

I love this poem. It says a lot in a few words and judging from the comments a lot of people can relate to it (which is unfortunate that they had to go through difficult experiences)
But writing can heal souls and that's why we do it and I hoped you touched people's hearts with your poem and healed them just a little.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your kind review,
j.

[Dave]

Do we all have such memories? As I read the comments below I feel it's true. My step-father was a drunkard. I was too young to remember how many times my mother went to his job to save it for him. She was a pretty woman and young me thought she only talked to him. When he was angry, I became his punching bag or kickball. Unfortunately, for me, I looked too much like my natural father. I had a younger sister and I can remember early mornings when he would take her in the bathroom with him. Again I was very young and didn't fully understand.
Take care - Dave

[jacob erin-cilberto]

wow, Dave...those are harsh memories...i appreciate your sharing, but wish it hadn't been that way for you...family abuse is the worst..
j.

[Dave]

Yes - but they are all gone now, even my younger sister. Stepfather smoked like a chimney! Does make one wonder how many skeletons are buried in family closets.

Take care - Dave

[barleygirl]

Verse prior to last line . . . exquisite imagery to conjure: "and in death" . . . Your overall msg reminds me of a sister who sees scars on her own arms, often shows scars to me (I can't see them), seemingly as badges to show how bad our childhood was. Some people carry their brokenness around like a keepsake & you nailed it in this poem (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you, Margie...thank you.
j.

[Fay Slimm]

The power in these words stirs "angry skin" within my framework too as it has in other readers jacob - - so clearly expressed this exposure of love "that embraces pain" and reading on I can feel "the abrasive touch" of that which cannot mend and my eyes fill with tears......................such a touching last line to think on and to remember in this lament.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your understanding, Fay...
j.

[John Alexander McFadyen]

As one divorced more than once this has a profound effect and it's brutal honesty, writen so eloquently has a mesmerising quality and yet one of foreboding and sad inevitability.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for relating in your way, John....
j.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

This was a thing with the men (loosely termed) I grew up around. They were abusive. I remember cowering in fear in dark corners as a child, listening to the sounds of my mother crying and screaming as she was punched and thrown around on the other side of the wall. I vividly remember the black boot print on the front of the outside door, which had been kicked in in a drunken stupor. A cake, which had been baked and was sitting on the table, was thrown across the room. I remember my mother fleeing the house, taking my two sisters with her, leaving me behind. I remember him telling me to lay in bed beside him, putting his arm over my waist, asking me to wake him when she returned. I remember the fear of what he might do, the sense of abandonment at being left behind, while she made sure she took my sisters with her. I remember swearing it would never happen to me. It did. There's nothing worse than the fear, the crying that has no tears, and the invisible hand that steals your breath. Thank God this is no longer a part of my life.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

i am so glad to hear that is no longer a part of your life, Linda...no one should ever have to suffer like this....I would just love to get hold of each of these men and beat the crap out of them.
j.

[Chris Shaw]

'acid acrimony toward matrimony' how caustic is that?

I feel burns here that do not heal and the skeletal finger still wearing the ring is the loser. Not keepsakes I would like to be left with, either the burns or the ring. Sounds as though one party took the partnership far more seriously than the other. Strong poem Jacob.

Chris

[jacob erin-cilberto]

thank you for your words, Chris.
j.