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Lisa K. Parsons

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Member Since: Dec, 2006

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Rare Bones
by Lisa K. Parsons

Saturday, February 17, 2007
Rated "PG13" by the Author.
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Long, narrative poem, which speaks of my
search for meaning and coming to terms with my distant past and adoption issues.

Rare Bones I grew up a moth, a dying soul drawn to life's cruel flame. Anger and violence spread like a circle of negativity lit by my adoptive father and brother. Bracketed within the frame of Scandinavia and Titanic Britain, my consiousness fractured into a mosaic floor. I whirled in the plain of my father; his was a physique not admired my many, and a physics profession misunderstood by all. Life has always been a battle, a trial for a dark eyed girl. No, I would never have a child, I swore while recovering from each of my two abortions. My journey into the male world caused gashing wounds and endless chains of nighmares. I "died" in many ways; drowning in a frozen stream; stabbed by friends and lovers; and starving alone in a forest. Always a new search for love, for meaning, and for a sense of identity. Only the pen and the brush gave me strength. Yet the world remains a knife-edged whirling dervish. Mother, where are you. Father, were you ever there at all. A lawyer aided my search and the scolding of an important adoption agency. Mother wrote, and she spoke in an old crackly voice. In essence, I was just a blot on her resume, and of course,"...abortions were not available then." Father was merely a short summer fling in Berkeley, 1954. This strange, new person wrote and she sent nostalgic cards, but she wasn't there for me as a child or teenager. And now I cope with her stories about ailing relatives and my new identity-- a relation to an eighteenth century Austrian princess.†

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Reviewed by Elizabeth Price 8/28/2007
Your poem speaks a lot of truths here. About the "male" world. Searching for ones self is dangerous even when you know your mother and father let alone in your case where you don't. Your writing is thought provoking and interesting. Keep on. Liz
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