My body

my body has a memory
my body has a memory of you
my body has a memory of your skin.

My body

my body remembers
my body remembers how it bent
my body remembers how it bent to your beckoning.

And yet

my mind
my mind has washed itself
my mind has washed itself of your name

like it were no more than scum
to be scrubbed.

All Words by Damien B. Donnelly

Published by deuxiemepeau

Published poet, writer, baker and former fashion maker, with footprints in Paris, London and Amsterdam but currently back home in Dublin with sights aimed at leaving a mark on the West coast one clear fine day...

10 thoughts on “DOWN THE DRAIN

    1. Thank you Jane. I felt a little naked posting this one, it felt so raw, but, at the same time, it felt like pulling out the plug when the bath runs cold.

      1. Not to worry, I took that shower long ago. I think it’s just winter’s darkening nights that mist over with ancient whispers. And sometimes the beauty of Paris can be overwhelming at times too. It can have a cold beauty that feels alien to an Irishman who’s used to everyone putting the kettle on before they even answer the door!! Thankfully I can make my own tea xx

      2. I know what you mean. The kettle thing especially. It’s something one of my sisters said, that when they go over to Ireland, it’s really brought home how different it is to England the amount of tea they drink, but especially how you can’t knock on somebody’s door without they shove a cup of tea in your hand

  1. Dear Dami,
    thank you for the courage to share this poem.
    I can relate to the description on how the cell memory is reacting on a physical level whilst the mind clearly has closed the door to a relationship. Depending on the kind of relationship, this can feel rather creepy, too, and it helps to remember that we are in charge of our own life and can choose to open or close a door.
    Have I read something about a cup of tea in the comments, above? What a magical remedy for those moments! (I am missing Irish tea!)
    I hope, there are some cracks in the cold darknes of the Parisian Winter to let some light in for you! ♥
    Much love,

    1. I guess the cup of tea signifies the willingness to let people in. Ireland has a history of open doors probably because it’s gone off and knocked on so many foreign doors itself! There’s a warmth in the suggestion of an open door. It can be lacking in other countries!
      On a side note; i am a green tea boy! My family think me weird! No Barry’s tea, no milk! They think I’m getting foreign notions!

      1. No Barry’s tea?!! That sounds odd for an Irish person, indeed! 😉
        (As you may have noticed, I like odd.) The colour green still makes a connection to the Emerald Island, though.
        I agree with you, regarding the open doors. And a cup of tea means to sit down together and talk, to get warm and cozy and to be welcome. I mostly drink herbal brew (which technically is not tea) but do appreciate a good cup of tea of any colour.
        In North Germany we have a tea tradition, as well. A black Ostfriesen blend with rock candy sugar and a cream cloud. Although, like you, I do not do dairy products in my tea (nor in any other food).
        I will pour myself another cup in a moment and will send a toast to you!

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