Don't touch me!
The slightest touch,
Unbearable. Blanket on, blanket off,
Breathing through an open mouth,
Hanging on hinge. Eyes at half-mast,
Heavy, sweating just to remain in formation,
Guarding the dam behind once patent nares.
I can't remember what it was like to breath,
To taste, to smell; To live in forced isolation,
Even worse. Seeking asylum from human
Touch - those wretched hands,
While well meaning are thorns,
Knives and daggers even;
Five in each hand, incapable of mercy,
With just the thought being,
As if omnipotent,
painful.
6 comments:
great poem!! I really liked your lines:
"those wretched hands,
While well meaning are thorns,
Knives and daggers even;
Five in each hand, incapable of mercy,"
this made me think of how easy it is to hurt patients even when you mean well, as an example of doctors hands causing nosocomial infections
The line about putting the blanket on then taking it off definitely reminded me about the flu, how you're so hot but so cold all at the same time! Also the breathing through your mouth because you're so stuffed.. the descriptions in the poem were almost too good, definitely takes you back to bad times. Very cute title!
the lines are rich with meaning, so that even the second pass reveals new insights.
"To live in forced isolation", cut off from the senses, is definitely one of the biggest existential burdens of experiencing a flu. However, its not what most people naturally think of in retrospect, so I think its cool that this was pointed out.
This poem was fantastic. The "blanket on blanket off" really describes how you simply cannot get comfortable when you are sick. One cannot figure out if they are hot or cold, or how to fix it. Great job, I enjoyed reading it.
In addition to the poem itself, I like the shape of it. I like it when poets intentionally craft their poem to look a certain way on the page. In addition, the text tapers in and tapers out nicely in a way that "bookends" your lament.
Your title also made me smile.
Wow powerful poem and very well crafted.
Touch - those wretched hands,
While well meaning are thorns,
Knives and daggers even;
Five in each hand, incapable of mercy,
Great use of imagery here. Thorns, knives, daggers on the skin, I wouldn't want to be you.
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