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Nosebleed
by Aaron BlairThe past has a funny way of sneaking up on you.
I come face to face with mine at eight o'clock on a monday night,
blood running down my face from two rivers that have forked inside my nose.
The headwound gush is a bodily Niagara,
and a hand that could maybe make a fist to do damage
is a poor tourniquet for cleaning up after any.
The red sinks into lines on my palm that I never noticed before,
rendering them beautiful, a map to a place I used to know.
It's not a memory so much as a ghost of sensation;
gooseflesh rising on the back of the neck, to remind me who I was. 05/08/2007 Posted on 05/09/2007
Copyright © 2026 Aaron Blair
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Jeffrey Parren on 05/09/07 at 02:42 AM Funny indeed. This has a spoken word feel to it because it is so straightforward and honest with a touch of imagery. Enjoyed. ~JPP |
| Posted by Kyle Anne Kish on 05/09/07 at 04:24 PM "... gooseflesh rising on the back of the neck, to remind me who I was" ... powerful lines here. Actually, powerful lines throughout your whole poem. There are many life changing events in our life. Some we choose, some we don't. I wonder how we would be without the changes we didn't choose? I ask myself, what makes us better or worse? The whole tone and emotional aspect of this poem make it what it is ... fantastic. |
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