I woke today with stains on both my hands,
brownish red and splotched, but not like blood
--no murder in the dark, I guess that's good--
but where they came from I can't understand.
I'm known to eat messy--maybe then food?
The grease and oil of some unguent viand?
Not likely, unless mixed with dirt or sand,
and that'd wash off. I scrubbed hard as I could.
I like to know where my hands get their dirt,
keep track of where I've wallowed, what I stood
to let stain me. These spots itch like a brand--
remind me I can't know whom I have hurt.
They shame me like a silent reprimand
for crimes I don't remember, though I should.
2 comments:
Maybe my favorite so far (I'm reading out of order, so that means more than it appears...).
Also, my word verification is zofttg. Very close to a word that cuts a little close to home. :)
Zaftig, Mrs. Tool. A German word that actually means something like voluptuous.
To the sonnet: Nice work. I like the mystery stain, the way you handle it, work a minor inexplicability into the whole large theme of guilt and responsibility. Two kvetches: I think viand is said with the emphasis on the first syllable, which screws with the rhyme, and I would recommend a more natural syntax in line five, which would also help with the meter--something like, "I'm known to eat messy, so maybe food?"
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