January 4th

[Jackie]

He meets the scene visit of our Christmas burglary
outside. Our former yardmen dismount and fall
at his feet. “Tears can't apply,” he says
like they aren’t men anymore. Amadu
in his undershirt and neat, neat Sie
dressed in screeching dirt. Like ghosts
they trace what stood that night in each
now dustless space. Trace their paths
past our sleeping children to outside
along the furrows between garden heaps.
I say, “You see, Sie, your lettuce all grown
to bush? Where did you think it would lead”?
And like they are no longer men they fall
at my feet, then reenter the car and pull out.

[Macavity]

Like ghosts
they trace what stood that night in each
now dustless space.

Intriguing Jackie, but I'm still outside the poem at the moment. Something been stolen from the garden? But the transgression, the weight of guilt, seems greater judging by the behaviours. Since it is a Christmas theft, perhaps something has been stolen relating to the children (sleeping in their innocence). Either way, the outcome seems a need for forgiveness. Will ponder.

best

mac

[ray miller]

He meets the scene visit - I can't make any sense of that and find the rest pretty impenetrable. I see that parts of the poem are being repeated elsewhere, but that's not helping.

[TrevorConway]

Hi Jackie,

I wish I could offer a helpful critique, but I struggled to engage. I see others had a similar experience. Would it be worth giving some background on what you were aiming at for this poem, and maybe we could compare that with the poem as written? Might help to link things up unless you really want to keep the enigmatic approach.

T

[Jackie]

Thank you Mac, Ray and T,

It looks like this needs some work. I'll be back!

Jackie