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Day 21 - Almost by Max Wallis - Write a ritual for remembrance
Welcome to The Daily Aftershock Writing Prompt—a daily invitation to write from the edges of aftermath, memory, rupture, and repair.
Each day, you'll receive a short, charged prompt designed to crack something open. There are no rules, only resonance. Use these however you need: to begin a poem, to open your diary, to find your voice again.
The Aftershock Review is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
Today I want you to write a poem that is about remembrance. But I don’t want you to name what you’re remembering. Instead, write a ritual.
Almost
by Max Wallis
They say not to name it.
So I won’t.
But I will lay out the steps, slow and sure as dusk.
Each time, I begin with my hands.
Not washing them.
Instead I press them against the bowl of the sink.
The ceramic of memory pooling my wrists.
I light a candle, never scented.
Too many associations.
Just wax, clean and low-burning.
Sometimes I think it’s the only light that doesn’t lie.
I write a word I’ve never said aloud
on the inside of my left arm.
A word that is almost a name.
Almost a place.
Almost a wound.
The blackbirds are making nests outside.
A frog is being watered in the hot May sun.
Somewhere there is a voice.
And I am lucky to not hear it.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit aftershockpoetry.substack.com/subscribe
Perhaps yours begins with bare feet on cold ground, perhaps a walk to the edge of the street and a stone left behind.
Your turn.
Leave out the name. Let the act speak.
The Aftershock Review is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit aftershockpoetry.substack.com/subscribe
View all episodes
By Max Wallis' Daily Aftershock Writing Prompts (The Aftershock Review)Welcome to The Daily Aftershock Writing Prompt—a daily invitation to write from the edges of aftermath, memory, rupture, and repair.
Each day, you'll receive a short, charged prompt designed to crack something open. There are no rules, only resonance. Use these however you need: to begin a poem, to open your diary, to find your voice again.
The Aftershock Review is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
Today I want you to write a poem that is about remembrance. But I don’t want you to name what you’re remembering. Instead, write a ritual.
Almost
by Max Wallis
They say not to name it.
So I won’t.
But I will lay out the steps, slow and sure as dusk.
Each time, I begin with my hands.
Not washing them.
Instead I press them against the bowl of the sink.
The ceramic of memory pooling my wrists.
I light a candle, never scented.
Too many associations.
Just wax, clean and low-burning.
Sometimes I think it’s the only light that doesn’t lie.
I write a word I’ve never said aloud
on the inside of my left arm.
A word that is almost a name.
Almost a place.
Almost a wound.
The blackbirds are making nests outside.
A frog is being watered in the hot May sun.
Somewhere there is a voice.
And I am lucky to not hear it.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit aftershockpoetry.substack.com/subscribe
Perhaps yours begins with bare feet on cold ground, perhaps a walk to the edge of the street and a stone left behind.
Your turn.
Leave out the name. Let the act speak.
The Aftershock Review is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit aftershockpoetry.substack.com/subscribe