International Women's Writing Guild
(after Charlotte Brontë)
he wakes, gathers for the coming day
in the midst of combing and brushing himself into a thing passing for human he stills long enough to catalog another droop another furrow an ingrained weariness across the shoulders
the familiar anger flares abruptly he turns from the reflection he cannot face this ever present failure so far from the measure of perfection haunting his dreams the same ones that bring her voice to him
You are human and fallible but you are enough.
Brenda, I'm so taken by this poem, especially the second stanza and also the move between these two lines:
in the midst of combing and brushing himself into a thing passing for human and also the line break here:
haunting his dreams the same ones that bring her voice to him
I love your use of segmented phrasing, too: another droop another furrow
What a compassionate piece of writing. Thank you for it.
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