The Writer Inside of Me is Dying / To My Hands
by Meghan Miglorie
Winthrop University
Meghan Miglorie is a rising junior at Winthrop University, located in Rock Hill, South Carolina. She is obtaining a Bachelor’s degree in English, with a double minor in creative writing and international and global studies. Meghan Miglorie was recently published in Winthrop’s literary journal, The Anthology, and was asked to read her poem, "My Mother Was Once Nineteen-” aloud at the showcase’s 62nd event. Meghan also works as a staff-writer for the Roddey McMillan Record, Winthrop University’s multicultural student publication.
The Writer Inside of Me is Dying;
& remaining on this deathbed of fairytale dreams-
Are slivers of shattering speeches,
Crumbling into weightless words,
Of my never ending
Shit for brains
Won't shut up
Won't stop for nothing
Ticking like a time bomb
Explosive mind.
Confessions of my lined sheet
Are just stacks of molding cellulose,
Collecting mountains of dust
In some forgotten papyrus diary,
& this scent of rotting failure
Is corroding everything.
Flailing my bony arms in disappointment
Like a traffic guide
But every direction I’m shown
Leads me to a dead end
Leaving me hitchhiking
Wandering aimlessly
Trying to put these sentences together,
Of this broken puzzle of my heart.
So scribbling this sooty ink into these yellowing recollections of defeat,
I scream;
Will I be forgotten like my mother’s wrinkling limbs,
Once brushing against my pale face?
Will I dispose my narratives away,
Like my father snapping his drumsticks
Tossing them for good,
Then trading them in for wrenches?
I never wanted to be a mechanic.
So what am I meant for? That question laying at the bottom of my page.
A life of tales buried among a graveyard of shelves?
To work myself dry from nine to five
Then one day
drop like a nagging fly?
To My Hands
My hands leave flakes of me everywhere
Like the snow that melts between my knuckles in the howls of winter
That freezes into ice on my
Numbing veins.
My palms are just
Helpless ligaments
Colliding in desperate prayers
That wish for nights where they didn’t have to stick to my ears,
That protect me from the thunderous roars of my mother
I can’t fight her fistfuls of anger any longer.
My thumbs
That trace the wrinkled mitts of my grandmother,
Her wilting wrists
That crack at these dry moments of eczema-engulfed despair.
I can’t forget the feeling of your chilled skin
As I held your hands for our final goodbye.
My fingernails
That prick at the skin
My mother once told me to love
Then selfishly hit
That now
Pull violently at the fraying strands of my
Unconditioned hair
Stained with regret and dandruff
That can only be traced in the scars these hands once
Cut beyond repair.
My fingers
That will always tug for my father’s
The only hands that never slipped away from mine
His tattooed with clumpy oil and
Hardened labor
I map his blackened hangnails
His bloody thumbs and
Bruising fists
Knowing one day they’ll leave mine behind.
That they’ll burn away in a morgue chamber
Then turn into nothing but
Handless ash,
Left for my shaking hands to hold
In the residue of silver dust
In some empty space.
To my hands
You leave me with the memories
Of the skin I once held-
Of those that have been taken away
That reminds me that mine will
Age all the same.
Interview with the Author
1. What pieces inspired you to start writing poetry?
I wouldn’t say I’m inspired by a singular piece of literature or poet, although I do give all of my thanks to inspiring poets such as Sylvia Plath and Dakota Warren. I believe as artists we inspire one another regardless of literary status, there isn’t one poet I find more intriguing than the next. In the end, we all have our own beautifully messed-up minds.
2. What theme do you find yourself constantly writing about in your works?
I would say I find myself writing poetry detailing my emotional processing of events in my life. Themes such as; heartache, frustration, anger, loss, confusion, betrayal, abandonment, really any raw emotion that I can grasp I will write about. I love to take little moments from people that have impacted me and will forever linger in my mind, and then turn those into this memory box of myself, creating this shared space that readers can dive into alongside me.
3. What do you think are important elements in thought-provoking poems?
I believe that the one key element a writer needs in thought-provoking poetry is honesty. You have to be willing to wear your soul on your sleeve, to show readers the insides of your heart, what has made you, you. I wouldn’t be the writer I am today without being able to not only be honest with myself and what’s happened in my life thus far, but really sit within the raw and real emotions of my personal experiences.
4. What role do you think poetry has on our society today?
I believe poetry will always have such an impact on our society, especially in today’s world. It speaks on topics that can be quite difficult for writers and readers alike to express. It’s such a beautiful way in my opinion to experience life through another human’s eyes, and to see how we can all come together to emotionally connect.
