She has not answered the door in many years
even when she had a door
even when there was a bell to ring
or wood to pound
she recalls once
feeling as if it were only herself
and the world
miming in pirouette masks back and forth
echoing on either side of a shard of glass
and she cut out that feeling with thin lines
blossoming under the bath
bubbling their way into unconsciousness
until lifted from reddening closure
she could not recognize afterward
thin on blood and holy water
her face in the hallway mirror
though she saw how badly the brass frame
needed polishing
perhaps if I smooth the glass
it will show me as I feel
not the scars and the fear
dancing across with pointed shoes
every year she remained patent
underneath the mossy dander
listening for the interupted caller
watching herself grow in reduction
a vile experiment in self exile
once a color, become ash in circles
for her tongue to lap
words left beneath earth
chanting dieties
and her child
was in a bottle set out to sea
playing mahogany violin
that could be captured by
circling satelites looking
much like stars
TheFeatheredSleep 
I really loved this! Especially the part about wanting to smooth the mirror to see your better self instead the broken self you’re trying to escape. I struggle with connecting with people and seeing any worth in who I am, so this really spoke to me. Plus I just loved the flow of the piece and your metaphors, especially the line about “Thin blood and holy water!”
It has always struck me as incredible that the kinds of people I admire are those with the least self-confidence, and those whom I feel have less to boast about, appear to do so with regularity! You my friend are one I would have much confidence and worth in, and yet you do not feel that self-worth, maybe it is a lack of self-work that enables us to write this way, I do not know, but just as the ‘wrong people have money’ maybe the wrong people do not have confidence in themselves. I wish I had a mirror I could reflect to you what I see. Meanwhile please know, if this is the doom of being an artist, there is an upside, and I so appreciate you xo
Reblogged this on Secret First Draft: A Site of the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective and commented:
Candice Louisa Daquin/The Feathered Sleep
Thank you!
Beautifully, achingly haunting.
“Watching herself grow in reduction” at first seems like a contradiction, then it just feels so sad. Thank you for sharing your gifts and talents with us!
This was a terrific read. Being humble should be praised, not seen as a weakness. I wish I had The Trumpster Fire’s number. He should read this multiple times, though I doubt he’d take it to heart. People like him don’t seem to be cursed with self-awareness.
Oh my this is amazing, my dear friend.
“and she cut out that feeling with thin lines
blossoming under the bath”
❤
Wow! Loved this poem. Being a dancer, I could close my eyes and see movements to these colorful words.
This is beyond exquisite
He would not understand it, not a word!
I agree, your words really are exquisite, to the point of making all others seem trite. This is haunting, melancholy, beautiful. Bravo my friend!
Phenomenal
I’m certain you’re correct. 😊
Beautiful imagery. Your vision into the human soul is amazing. Thanks for the ride.
Ah, I saw much of myself so clearly in your words.
Another marvelous piece of art.
A tender treatise on timid isolation
Your vision is incredibly amazing and the human soul in you is very remarkable sis. Another brilliant writing. 🙂
Reblogged this on wwwpalfitness.
This is awesome! Love your vocabulary
Absolutely amazing. So so so very deep and wonderous…just like you.
Ha! On a good day! 😉 thank you dearest one for your support and loyalty it means such a lot xo
Dearest friend thank you so much!
Welcome ❤
Xo 🙂