Rated: 5 stars
Read: June 23, 2020
Eight years in between readings I think, meant to be perhaps because I learned more in the ensuing years. Had accumulated more backstory of the war through several mediums, most significantly after having read The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank, plus several fictions like Eye of the Needle by Ken Follet to more domestic locals in La’s Orchestra Saves the World by Alexander McCall Smith. Not least of which was my visit to Dover Castle, the tunnel tour.
It was heartbreak all over again, of course. It was damnation and redemption all in one told by the guy we all heard of, the one we’ll all have the chance to meet. The writing style took some getting used to then and even a little still now but I find I liked it because the use of similes, metaphors, and a technique I can’t quite pin down, they made paintings of scenes.
At the beginning of the book, the clinging, filthy, and bruised girl was in many ways similar to the end. She was still filthier, and battered and clung still to what she could. But she was different too.
the lush lip of
a dewy petal, suede and pale,
bruises are a hazard that blares
sharply in diffuse fragrance,
crushed veins, a slowly drooping head …
shamelessly to be discarded by the eye.
the flower has more in common
with the grave beneath it
than with the feet that trod above.
one keeps running from a given,
the other knows:
there’s nowhere else to go.
Copyright © 2019 Devina Singh
i read somewhere,
that your purpose is
to give your life meaning
Clever, i’d thought then
now, never a truer thing I saw
It’s all experience, hands-on
full throttle even when time
moves at a snail’s pace
It’s a real thing, to have died
and still, be breathing, limbs moving
It was/is my experience living on this edge
To know what it means
to have a freezer-burned soul
The thaw promised growth and healing
What’s good for me was not for the polar bear
Scattered around my body
are holes i dug with my
Like from the earth my mother came
ivy and moss flank the trellis of my ribs
to hold myself to me,
Perhaps, i realize, not so i did not fall apart
but to contain the new thing I become
each time i change
into the thing i’m supposed to be
i know what it means to
sit quietly at dawn and to
let the dew bathe me Continue reading