In Isolation

[penneddown]

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Hi penne,
some great images, and a strong evocation of mood. For me, though, there are a few (ok, more than a few) too many similies: the 'ill-fitting tie' and (after the intriguing 'small talk as dull as sparrows feathers') the less engaging, and repetitious feeling 'conversation as empty as puffed rice' spring to mind.

It could also stand a little pruning. So, with that in mind, and for my own convenience ...


Carmen broods like tea brews,
- love this as an opening. How important is the name?
the days stretching out like elastic.
- 'like elastic' is rather weak.

When the nurses come she shuts pretends to sleep,
their small talk dull as sparrow feathers.

Her mother has an obnoxious voice
wears her smirk like an ill-fitting tie.
- puzzled about the physical circumstances regarding Carmen, her mother, and the nurses.

Last night they lay awake listening
to the weight of their own breathing.
- not sure 'weight' is the best choice.

Carmen imagines her mother trapped
in a jam jar, pressing her hands to the glass

they both know one month in one room
is too long. She whispers to her marrow

wake up

she thinks she can hear her cells moving
under her skin, like London in summer.

she opens the vertical blind as if unveiling a secret.
Behind the car park a tree is turning toward Autumn,
- I think this line offers the strongest ending.
Having got this far, and enjoyed the journey, I don't think the title serves the piece that well.



Best, Knot


Thanks for the helpful feedback Knot, I appreciate it. Also felt it was a little heavy on the similes. I have made a bit of an edit, and turned it into poetic rather than prosaic form. See as below.

The name is irrelevant. I have changed it to improve the flow.

Jasmine broods like tea brews,
her days stretching out like elastic.
 
When the nurses come she pretends to be asleep,
Avoiding small talk as dull as sparrows feathers.

Her mother wears plum lipstick and plastic shoes.

Last night they lay awake in the dark
listening to their own breathing
 
Jasmine imagining her mother trapped in a jam jar,
pressing her hands to the side of the glass.
An enigmatic mime.
 
They both know one month in one room
Is too long. She whispers to her marrow
 
wake up
 
And she thinks she can hear her cells moving under her skin
like London in summer.
 
She opens the vertical blind as if unveiling a secret.
Behind the car park a tree is turning toward Autumn.

 
The ending feels a little blunt to me, there’s room for improvement. The flow of the poem isn’t brilliant, but it’s improving. 

Many thanks

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