The bone bruised deep
Its white hard surface
Jarred into place
With jagged edges
That cut the nerve
Like raw steel
Cold
No giving
No room
For the wound’s red running
Its blood-red giving
It was then she sat ....
Before the mirror staring
One long single braid
All neatly woven
Tight-wrapped and twisted
Pouring down her breast
And into her lap
Like one single tear ...
The bone bruised then
Far beyond recognition
And belief.
It was then she sat ....
And stared
Empty and wondering
At what was there
In the mirror a woman
Not yet become
No shape or form
Not yet there ...
The bone still bruised
far beyond recognition
and belief.
But now the hand ....
Gives up the fight
Goes back with brush
To scalp and stroking
Down and past
The doorways open
And things forgotten
Spill out from dark ...
The bone bruised wakens
Now some small reckoning
And belief.
And now she sees .....
Within the glass
The many faces
She has become
She was become
So long ago
The ghosts and hands
That move towards her ....
The bone bruised wakened
And recognition
Beyond belief.
The bone bruised deep
Its white hard surface
Softens in place
Its jagged edges
Still cut the nerve
Like raw steel
Cold
But now forgiving
There’s room
For the wound’s red running
Its blood red giving
No comments:
Post a Comment