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 was no more than scum
to be scrubbed.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
This is a re-post
Poems, Poetry, Poets
Some lays of the Fianna, translated from the Irish by Annraoi de Paor with illustrations by Tim Halpin
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The Things That Are In My Head.
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Author of 'Sent, 'Fall', 'Unmuted' and 'Saudade'
home of the elusive trope
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New Zealand
French magazine - art & visual culture
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a writing space curated by José Angel Araguz
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Damien B. Donnelly 
I likes it
Thank you very much 😊
This poem makes me want to take the poet in my arms and say, not scum, just forget and ride the surf beneath a rain-washed sky. Sounds pretentious, but you get the drift 🙂
It sounds like comfort and truth and light and I love it 😍
I wish all problems were solved just by wishing 🙂
Just as your message arrives, I open Instagram and see you name on the latest Scribebase post with not one, but two of your poems to be featured in their upcoming issue! Congratulations my dearest 💃🏻🤗👏👏👏
Thank you for the news! I don’t have Instagram—hate fiddling with telephones 🙂
I hope you were aware and I didn’t ruin the surprise! It’s marvelous xx
I know I had two pieces accepted, but I wasn’t aware there was a sneak preview going on 🙂
I love Jane to bits for her wise and beautiful response.
Wisdom is in Jane’s bones and I’m grateful for it! And thankfully these poems are flashbacks from the past so, for myself, I can view them as Interesting flowers or weeds that once took their place in a bed in my garden but have seen been uprooted.