He Never Hit Me

But when I sit under the ocean
The sand reminds me of him.
It digs between my toes,
Inching its way up.
When I lie in wild fields,
I remember how he was a gardener,
Encouraging bruises to sprout from my skin
Like fingerprint violets;
How he grew vines around my wrists,
Red imprints of his life line,
His love line.
When I sleep by a fire,
The heat is his warm arms
Swaying with steps
And with each pop from the hearth,
He is there, tongue like embers
Saying he loves me.

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6 Responses

  1. Dave Kavanagh says:

    This is such strong poetry, Ashleigh. Well written with strong metaphor throughout. Thank you for sharing your writing here. I have selected this poem for ‘Editors Picks’

  2. Lori Hamilton says:

    such a sensory write. the senses you don’t tease literally within these lines, you allude to…the fragrance of the sea was particularly strong for me. your metaphors are striking wrapped up in these vivid images. very lovely work.


  3. Vicky says:

    A really creative perspective of a difficult subject…great work.

  4. Naomi Tate Maghen says:

    I really like this write. It doesn’t come out and say ‘I’m in pain’, but there’s a heady sense of loss and longing here in his remembrance. Quite lovely

  5. Mario Vitale says:

    great piece very free flowing indeed

  6. Naomi Tate Maghen says:

    Well, I’m going to have to forgive you the use of ‘love’, because this is certainly not cliched writing. I really love this write, it pulsates with emotion and grabs the reader from beginning to end. Thanks so much for entering!

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