DEEP SEATED EXPLORATION
My gut is pierced
Not the physical, but the psychic
Not a knife, but a fork
Not alfredo, but tomato sauce
The fork attacks me,
a plate of linguine marinara:
Pierce the pile
Twist round
Feel the reel, the dancing circles
Pull in all I am
All the essentials
Muscle
Mind
Soul
Trailing stringy strands
What was
Is
A ball big as disco
The silver flatware long since slathered
in bloody twine, scarlet vine
I feel about for the loose nub
The end of my rope
Pull gently
Unwind ever so slowly
Don’t break the ties of time
Delicately, I will prise the fork and
dispose of that which has strangled my being:
The damnable tapeworm
he planted inside me
all those years ago
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
Sunday Scribblings tossed us one word: Explore. I went inward. Also at the site that never twirls me ‘round unless it’s fun: Poets United.
Sharp Little Pencil 
J Cosmo Newbery
An unexpected ending! I will never look at fettuccine the same way again.
Sharp Little Pencil
Oops. Sorry to interrupt your pasta consumption! Thx, Cos
Queen of the Tambourine
I like the twists and turns of this, the odd contrast between spaghetti and emotion, I too will never look at pasta the same way again. Though Linguine, Fettuccine and spaghetti are all pretty much the same to me so I can’t be so precise about which one will make me think of this.
Sharp Little Pencil
Apparently you are not the only pasta-sensitive person! Thank you for visiting, and I’ll come over now… I’m SO behind!! Peace, Amy
oldegg
The sadness of loss infects every aspect of our nature. We see, feel and weep over the most mundane things as the hurt affects everything we do. Your poem is a brilliant interpretation of this. Well done!
Sharp Little Pencil
It’s therapy, man. Tough but so worth it…
seingraham
Aye yai yai … this is intense and wonderfully done … pasta be damned, you’ve gone somewhere much deeper
Sherry Blue Sky
Yes, that kind of piercing leaves a lifelong wound, I find………thankfully we are strong and brave and damned if we’re going to let them ruin Right Now…….serious topic, Amy and, as always, so well voiced.
Roger Green
did not see that coming!
kaykuala
We call them noodles in various forms of preparations in our part of the world. Invariably all are savory in taste with generous offerings of hot chillies for the brave or tomato ketchup for the timid. As perfectly dealt with in your verse, we had to fight and attack twisting and turning it around the fork to enjoy it. Wonderful write Amy!
Hank
brian miller
can def feel the struggle and what a creative way to point it out…as spaghetti…ha…very cool…but also very real piece…
tigerbrite
Intense and very visually described. We can go in meditation to a beautiful temple and meet the archangels. Ask angel Raphael to remove the offending, he is the strongest to invoke in this regard. His day is Sunday.
Jae Rose
Once you find the head of a tapeworm you can pull it out..you always make me smile however troubling the feelings..you have courage..fork fulls…jae
4joy
tied up and twisted…..glad you could unravel….
hedgewitch
Whoa–this is like some of the dreams I have sometimes–it seems totally real and plausible too, despite the bizarre and surreal images. Excellent piece.
Steve King
Amy,
Interesting use of the metaphor here, Amy–very original. The way you write about getting out of the entanglement is also very striking. Fine piece.
Victoria C. Slotto
This is so clever, Amy. It’s late at night, there’s leftover pasta in the fridge. Now that’s all I can think of. As Steve said, great metaphor.
Annette Mickelson
Ewwww. tapeworms. I have to admit I was squirming while I read this. 😀
Steve E
The more I read you, more I say, “What a life! You go so deep here in so short a piece. My past (What Was) comes off only in layers, one removed reveals the next, etc. BTW, I’m not convinced that what was still IS.
“what is, IS
what was, WAS
what ain’t…AIN’T”
I see no change from that…for me.
Good writing, with surprises.
PEACE, Amy!
Steve
claudia
oh dang…tight emotions in this…very surreal images but even more powerful
Poet Laundry
Gritty at the core–you write with conviction. Pierce and dispose. Amen.
Kathy
….that which has strangled my being…I’m learning a lot by just reading your poetry!
Mary
Some wounds last a lifetime, are hard to shed. That ending expressed so much.
Kerry O'Connor
This is so potent, guttural in the extreme. It is a bold poet who can dig deeply beneath the surface of emotions or scars to find the twisty spaghetti-like strands os torment.
The silver flatware long since slathered
in bloody twine, scarlet vine…
markwindham
that is one way to get it out…perhaps the only way…
Nilanjana Bose
Intense! very expressive. … the pain is tangibilised. Hard hitting lines.
julespaige
OOOh…..yes some nagging memories most horrid (others perhaps sweeter) are like a tape worm. Strange how some dreams drag up things you though were ‘digested.’ Intense with humor – ‘loverly’.
lmkazmierczak
This sits very well into my psyche…keep yanking that chain♫♪