For Poets United Thursday Think Tank: Inanimate Object
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Pill Box
Boxed Words
Okay, so you didn’t want
to do the prompt. Fine.
Then suddenly latch onto me,
the pill box you hate for so
many reasons. Moment you
started writing, flooded
with memories.
Her hands, skin so transparent,
delicate blue veins pumping
like soft breath. She was always
so tentative with touch, insecure,
unsure of day, but hoping to get
it right, or quietly questioning first.
All those things you don’t want
to remember, hold them against
me with hard plastic grasp, wanting
to slap them down, snap them closed
because you fear her reality is fast
becoming your own. Don’t want to go
there, even though you have no choice
because time is passing, and although
your voice is strong, will to follow
is as weak as delicate blue veins
tracing map filled with fallowed
meanings.
I frighten you.
I frightened her too.
Certainly didn’t, don’t mean to.
Supposed to help, not cripple,
but feelings ripple through fingers,
are felt, absorbed and linger.
You touch me,
you touch her.
Like words whispered, bypass
synapses heading straight toward
tender places.
That is the gift I bring: to remember.
To know that you are growing old
with each breath. And yes, death
will come at its appointed time.
You will find that you are ready.
You learned by watching her, just
as she learned by watching her mother.
I only do what I am created to do,
and you must do the same. Like me,
all the rest is passing now, through
your fingers.
Elizabeth Crawford 6/23/11
Process Notes: Yesterday, I wrote (for a prompt at We Write Poems) about a familiar everyday object, describing it and how it impacts on me. When I saw the prompt today (write in the voice of an inanimate object), I almost turned away, felt set up. But, then remembered all the responses and comments from yesterday’s poem. How my feelings were quite universal and easily understood. So, today, I found myself speaking on behalf of that not well loved object and learning something in the process. Whew!
Soul's Music 
but feelings ripple through fingers,
are felt, absorbed and linger.
Don’t the just! Touch triggers memories in many ways, not least the time line which wraps all objects and flows though fingertips along with the textures…
Thanks Jinksy, you nailed that one,
Elizabeth
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Drat! small comment type fooled me again- please read ‘Don’t THEY just!’
That’s just the way I read it, lol,
Elizabeth
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wow, so much going on here. I love the story-telling nature of it.
Hello amtrumble, welcome. And thanks for your kind words,
Elizabeth
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Oh Elizabeth, this is so strong, so powerful.
“I frighten you.
I frightened her too.”
. . . It frightens me as well.
“That is the gift I bring: to remember.
To know that you are growing old
with each breath. And yes, death
will come at its appointed time.
You will find that you are ready.
You learned by watching her, just
as she learned by watching her mother.
I only do what I am created to do,
and you must do the same. Like me,
all the rest is passing now, through
your fingers.”
….. that is brilliant, raw and very emotive to me.
I love these two pieces about the pill box Elizabeth. They have a depth, a candour and I think they touch something in us all.
Thanks so much Susannah, they certainly are of a piece. And I am so glad I wrote my way through them. I still believe poetry is some of the cheapest and best therapy available.
Elizabeth
ps Susannah, tried to leave a comment on your site. Don’t know if it went thru but then I got locked out. I am having trouble with comments lately. Sorry.
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Lovely poem, Elizabeth… the strong images, emotions felt. A sad situation, though.
Thanks Laurie. Not so much sad, as simply bewildering for a time. This poem really helped that a lot. Thank goodness,
Elizabeth
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Yes, Elizabeth, both poems definitely speak right to our hearts. I so hear you, Sister Woman! The fearful thoughts we scurry from. This is such a powerful piece of writing, with a message that is universal. So well done.
Thanks Sherry, and I so felt the same way about your Wild Woman quest concerning love.
Elizabeth
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I love the intimate, openness of allowing fear to be swallowed like the pills. We all have bitter pills to take. If we are lucky we get to grow old~ Great Job!
Hi Ella, loved your take on the spoon. Reminded me of so many things. I didn’t allow myself too much space for feeling while writing this. If I had, I might have never done it. Glad that I did though, and thanks for your thought on swallowing the fear. Good one,
Elizabeth
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An enormous amount of feeling and memory in the words of the pillbox.
And maybe even a bit of wisdom. Thanks Rinkly,
Elizabeth
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I found your piece so wonderfully wise and honest. I like your words in a box.
Thanks Annell, wasn’t sure where it would go, but glad I followed,
Elizabeth
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The pill box may be a refuge but soon we seek refuge from the box itself. I like the way you’ve described the slow attachment then addiction then the realisation that it is harmful.
That’s quite an interpretation Madhumakhi, thanks for your words,
Elizabeth
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Elizabeth,
A lot of content within your words. The medicinal connection and the ‘bitter pill’ of life iteself.
A very powerful piece of thought provoking writing.
Eileen
Eileen, I had no clue where this would take me, but I have learned to follow the words and just let it happen. This one was certainly enlightening. Thanks for your thoughts,
Elizabeth
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This is amazing. I am so glad I came back to see this additional piece centered on the the pill box.
Thank you Jeane, I can only see the back to back prompts as synchronicity and be grateful for that.
Elizabeth
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Hi Elizabeth, I want to say again how wonderful both of these pieces about the pillbox are. I am really enjoying your writing. x
PS. I am not sure which of my sites you left the comment on?
Out of My Ocean, and today I had no problem at all. Puter gremlins. Glad you enjoyed, they weren’t an easy write, but certainly one worth the doing, thanks Susannah,
Elizabeth
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Age is a powerful thing to come to terms with and even though we try our parent’s lives, especially the end time is an always present memory. Well done!
Renee, when I wrote these two poems, I thought I was simply exploring my own silly sort of experience, didn’t realize how much very good company I was keeping. Might be a good idea to pick up one of those ‘inanimate’ objects every once in a while and just write about it. I like that idea: A Diary of Inanimate Objects. Hmmmm, sounds sort of interesting. We hang on to things for so many unexplored reasons. Thanks for sharing your thoughts,
Elizabeth
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