Layers

Poetry is a way to excavate historical truths from within us. That’s what makes is so powerful and sometimes a bit dangerous. Reading poems, we find our own meanings and make our own connections. The poet doesn’t have total ownership of their poem: when it’s out there, it belongs to whoever reads it, especially if they’re moved by it. And that’s a very cool thing.

It’s a current hot topic for me, for many reasons, this idea of stripping layers away and uncovering what’s been painted over for a long time. And this little poem relates to that.

Thanks, by the way, to the people at National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) for this very specific format suggestion. I love it – less is very often more…

Six lines, three sentences, question and answer

The layers are more wallpaper
Than onion, maybe more like paint.
When they are uncovered, peeled,
Scratched and pulled – will it hurt?
Like the winter breath, like the cold water
Drink, like a bare and beautiful wall – yes, it will hurt.

The image to accompany this poem is by Mr Doomits and the featured image is by Rezboy.