My Eyes Closed Yesterday

From Sara Nell

The themes behind these poems are very concrete. As far as My Yesterday is concerned, a longing for what we once lived is something we all experience. The picture painted, however, is that of a perfect past juxtaposed to a melancholy present. What of the future? I wanted more out of both of these poems. What was your yesterday? I know it had a warm smile, but could it sing, tightrope walk, speak Hebrew? I really dig personification. My taste for it was tantalized, but not quenched. I had no connection to the character of Eyes Closed, for I had no basis in which to plug in. Was he get knocked-out cold on the sidewalk, bleeding from his right eyes, counting each swallow of blood as he recounted the last ten minutes of Fight Club? Or was he sad? Or was he swallowed up by that kind of starving sorrow that completely consumes the body so that his mattress swallows him at night as Bukowski’s did? Or is he so alone that he, himself, has forgotten his name? Is he a junkie on the streets Marrakech? Or more so a reflection of everything?