What You Made Me, When Making Me a Man
A small glass lantern with metal joints
Inside there is a bit of wick
Both smooth and rough hands craddle the shell
Minds cradle the wick with the eyes
Desires cradle the match that brings forth light
The act of burning reveals the desires of the wick
The light hitting the glass demands a reckoning
But the minds deny both, and wonder if the wick loves the match or the desires cradling it.
5 thoughts on "What You Made Me, When Making Me a Man"
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I like the complex relationship between an individual’s innate self and the external forces that shape them explored in this poem.
Great use of sounds and repetition throughout this poem. Feels like I’ve been given a full 360 degrees of perspective, which is impressive for such a succinct poem.
One of my prized possessions is a Roman lap made of stone and drowned in a shipwreck before it was revived.
love this title and the images
Great images and thoughts.