~ Delta Poetry Review ~

Nicole Bloomfield

Washed Out Lens

The tides have turned over
For I am submerged under the murky waters of my words
That once parted with the wield of my pen.

I am living the world through washed-out lens,
My strength dripping and dripping
In a soundless splash.

I don’t think I’m broken, for my mind’s intact.
I don’t think I’m burnt out, for there was never a fire.
But the towel is wrung out,
The water squeezed out of me.

The words are crumbling on the page,
Evaporating
No longer stuck together to create meaning.

People tell me to wash my lens from another source,
But that means leaving the oasis that once was my land.
Even if I find clean water somewhere else,
How do I refill the hole?

 Outburst
After the poem by Emily Dickerson, 1862

After great pain, the formal feelings suspend —
The Nerves sits alone, doused with cowering fantasies —
The stiff Heart questions their perceived purpose
When no one hears the beats on the surface?

Perhaps another brief candle lighted way to dusty death,
Or plagued by social suicide in another shaky breath.
Perhaps a roof was battered by viciously strung slurs,
Or a gilt title stripped and lost to a long-time spur.
Perhaps —

No flickering flame near
To thaw and hasten the suspended cheer.
But done without accommodating slow,
It explodes — then the letting go —