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Author Name: Freeborderline_mary 1 Comments
Date Added: October 21, 2011 11:10:22 Average Score: (Needs 2)
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Type: Free Verse
Category: Broken Hearts Add To Favorites | Text Only
Idaho II
Waking on the grass
I'd slept a little when it wasn't cold enough
Tie my hair, fold my tent
Stretch a night of nightmares from my limbs

Eyes can't bear the light
So I still wander blind
Through dead, brown open space
Below the scrubby hills
The maybe-mountains of Idaho

Count the telephone poles I can see
From where I walk
There's nothing else to gather
And I already know the number
Bluffs like castle walls in gold and orange stone
And this October running late
Pushing hours and cars across the line of the world

Came here to get away
To see the rise and fall of stars and highways
To hide where there are never shadows
The maybe-mountains of Idaho are everything
I promised you I'd find

Angry, flat-topped ridges crowned with turbines
Like a child's spinner-hat
Dissolving in lavender
Into the evening I don't remember coming on
Been so long since I found anyone
Who was moving slowly enough to see

Climb ahead and search the sky
I can't find my fire anymore

Rolling, sweeping, passing over
And I told you it would happen
I told you winter wouldn't come

Decide what you want
And I'll slow down for you among the valleys
Until the dead, brown land betrays my footsteps
My heartbeat, my little brown tent
And little brown fire
In vast, forgotten Idaho
The mountains are stunted, are maybe
Like we are
Author's Notes:
This was written at around the same time as my 'Idaho' sonnet, and kind of goes with it.  The imagery overlaps, which is deliberate.
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'Idaho II' Copyright © Jessica Ruth Myr
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Comment By: PremiumDavid Turner on October 22, 2011 06:58:47 PM Report
Dear Jessica,
         I find this incredibly moving and desperately sad. Such an expressive description of a need for loneliness. It certainly makes me want to go and walk among those Idaho maybe mountains.

THis feels very personal so I am reluctant to intrude upon whatever grief or agony may have inspired this. It is the poets role to put such profound experiences of joy or suffering  into words. You excel brilliantly at this. You have moved my soul.




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