We who wander in the orchard are lost, howling with owls, these embittered nights among twisted apple trees. Body parts sloughed as we slumber: the busy din of scalpel bearers saving lives. Lest we forget. I never knew that mourning is a private act a spiral inwards for strength and these dictionaries we call souls. To find meaning (the orchardist says) unskin a star, it’s tear drop points an uncanny compass showing five ways outwards. For we must out like the hermit crab. A tiny cone no matter how safe does not admit the world.
Mastectomy
Published
Out of the Cave 
I am truly speechless.
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I hope it all makes sense.
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To me, it makes perfect sense. It speaks to every part of who I am.
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Fantastic. Thank you.
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It actually made me quite emotional, and I usually keep that sort of thing underwraps.
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Blame Earthweal. It was their prompt set me off. 😉
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Worms, this is breathtaking. These lines floored me –
❤
David
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Thank you, David. ❤
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I’m with David! 👏🌹
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Many thanks! ❤
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This one leaves me stunned. Gripping and the images… unskin a star, just wow
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Thanks, Debi. Much appreciated. 🙂
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This is so skilfully done, by turns personal and universal. A brave write: I love what you have done with the prompt!
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Thank you, Ingrid. ❤️
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One again you touched my heart. “I never knew that mourning is a private act”, so true, so true. Thank you!
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Thank you Ulle. ❤
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Wow. I’ve tried to articulate the strangeness and loss of such surgery but I have never managed anything with this intensity.
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Thank you Sarah.
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WOW. What an incredible poem. These images! So evocative, powerful and fresh. Thank you for sharing- the quality of this piece is inspiring!
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Thank you! Very kind words!!
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A wonderful beginning, howling with owls…..unskin a star…….my favourite of yours so far. Very fine writing.
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thank you, Sherry
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wow, this is amazing Worms. Especially that last stanza.
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Thank you Kate ❤
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I’m with Sarah, the precision in naming this godsforaking territory is, um, scalpel-sharp. As part of the chorus whose understanding can only be abstract (castration’s sear might be close), all I can say is bless your angels/devils for creating a much clearer (and terrifying) map.
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“ tear drop points
an uncanny compass
showing five ways outwards.”
Like pointing to all the corners of the universe. What a compass.
This is just so lovely. Thanks for sharing.
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Thanks Selma. ❤
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I can’t really add anything to what has already been said. The spiraling in and then out–the essence of being. (K)
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Mourning is indeed a private act. Reading more than once and still my tired brain is missing something….
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I gather this poem didn’t work for you. But from the extent of your comment I can’t really figure out where the problem is so I don’t know how to respond. Thanks for taking the time to read it more than once.
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This is so personal yet universal. To some degree we all mourn pieces of ourselves. Beautiful writing and use of images and imagination.
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Thank you, Myrna. ❤
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A wonderfully imaginative write. The orchard theme is potent for me, as apples are a part of my Samhain childhood memories. Interestingly the inside of an apple, sliced in two, reveals a five pointed star at its core.
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Exactly, Paul. I’d never heard of Samhain until this year. But I read on the earthweal prompt about the apples and the five pointed star and that lovely image found its way into my poem. Thank you for reading.
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This is amazing! Beautiful, haunting. every word perfectly chosen.
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Thank you. <3<3<3
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