*
she wants to know about the wings we hide.
she wants to know if there is blood involved.
(her question is a speculum)
-
she asks questions.
the whole world goes
black and white
like a photograph,
like a Victorian.
-
once a month i find
blackberries on the inside.
-
when i'm thirsty, i drink my milk
straight from the gallon jug.
let it spill across
my face. my entire life
trying to suckle, stains
reaching down the front of my shirt.
-
she asks questions.
i want to take my clothes off.
show her
the Daughter Body.
hair growling
at her rosy hope. her
misty concern.
-
thin lines etched in white
across skin stretched too hard
around and across
new hips during puberty.
the marks i hide.
the marks i am ashamed of. surfaces
i know are ugly.
-
she asks questions.
when i'm sad, i can't keep the wings hidden.
-
there is blood and yellow
milk stains. accidents
drying toward black.
i wash and wash and once
a month i find
blackberries crushed
on the bread of my thighs.
*
4 comments:
Just love this... really and truly, I do.
Somehow, I think we share similar scars... something that burrows and hibernates and wilts us all too often.
But I suppsose this is true for many.
We are all haunted by something...
this is great. the question as speculum, the world going victorian, the blackberries. it really goes inside the matter.
doll, thank you so much. what you've written here feels like such a wonderful hug. :)
ghosts and ghosts and ghosts.
thank you for reading here.
roz, thank you! i'm trying to get over my fear of letting the poems out in to the world. i'm so thankful you read here and let me know what you think. it gives me a warm dose of courage. much needed and so very appreciated.
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