Take it all down:
the calendar, the clock,
the curio shelf — picture of your ma.
Take down those greazy sconces
and those framed flights
of your pigeoned eye.
Take down the best of your days
and your rage — your rage.
Tear down the sheetrock.
Punch out all those cagey studs
with a sledge — strip out the wire
and sell it for scrap.
Now stand there, bare before the borderlands
— the edge. Step out, into the hands
of your mother lying there more barren
than bleak, more vista than vain.
Take down the rain in your mouth and drown —
drown in the plaint she sang before there was breath.
My response to dVerse Poets Pub Poetics: Edges and Fringes. Thank you, Lisa for hosting. Your urging gave precisely what this poem needed — that Edge.
Sweet and Bitter Greens 
Deconstruction at its most epic. Love what you’ve torn down and opened up here, D.
Thank you kindly. Sometimes you need to destroy the whole damn house to find the way back home.
You’re very welcome.
Very cool deconstruction indeed, Devon. All my old homes are rubble now. Great response to prompt. Salute!
Salute, Ron! I look forward to a deep dive into your work.
D
sometimes feel the sledge in my hand ready. but lack the push to take me over the edge you got me close with this.
Thank you, Rog. Close is good enough.
D
“Destroy the whole damned house to find the way back home” ,,,,,, profound!
Isn’t that the case, though. I find we sometimes come to a place of our making and realize that “this” is not it.
Tear it all down and go back to the beginning as we can’t keep it anyway: well said!
Thank you so much, Ingrid.
D
Powerful stuff, Devon!
Thanks much for the read and comment, Kim. You are so kind.
D
You’re welcome. 🙂
The anger and the stillness after. (K)
Yes, and a cleansing.
D
Wonderful how you start off so concrete, and then move into the metaphorical, linking back to that first stanza and the picture of the mother.
Thanks for catching that little trick, Carol. I was hoping it wouldn’t go unnoticed.
D
I really love how you really created that empty space by cleaning out it all… sometimes the edge begins only when you find the void.
Hi Bjorn, and thank you. I think you would enjoy Jim Harrison’s poem “Broom”. It is similar in some respects. https://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/index.php%3Fdate=2011%252F12%252F11.html
Hi Devon , arthritis flaring, typing excruciating, but good work!
Thank you, Rob. And typing through the pain – I am truly humbled.
D
Wowza, I have no other words!
You are very kind. Thank you.
D
You’re welcome.
I have lost count of how many times I’ve read this work of art …. bravo.
Aw, thank you so much.
D