Head In Hands

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Head In Hands

 

when I bring my hands

to my face

the heels fit precisely

into the sockets of my eyes…

 

my thumbs circle my temples

but do not soothe or ease the pain…

 

each of my fingers press

against the bony ridge of forehead…

 

kneading, coaxing,

pleading for relief…

 

the insides of each hand

pinch against the aqualine

contours of my nose…

 

my little fingers

touching at the tips

to form an inverted ‘V’…

 

my breath funnels

from slightly pinched nostrils

and open mouth

like a gentle warm breeze

through a valley…

 

beneath the palms of my hands

my eyes are closed

as a slow greasy tear

seeps from under one lid

and trickles along the length

of my ring finger

and down the back

of my hand…

 

there are sounds

at the edge of my hearing

in another room…

muffled by distance…

 

I stay like this for one minute…

two…

inhaling…

exhaling…

 

it’s been that sort of day…

depressionhead in handssadnesstiredness

◄ Sun Bleached Bones

Splendid Is The Flower ►

Comments

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raypool

Tue 3rd May 2016 21:25

Exquisite fluid use of simple words in a masterful description of something so familiar. It almost feels like a meditation. Nice to read you in this frame of mind.

Ray

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Tommy Carroll

Sun 1st May 2016 21:23

The touch of this piece Ian has 'The Mezzanine' by Nicholson Baker about it- not that it is purposefully so. It resonates. Tommy

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