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| | | The Poetry Corner |  Mon Dec 15, 2008 12:21 pm by Anonymous | A place to post some of your favourite works old and new by artists both famous and not.
She Had A Death In Me
By: Joan Houlihan
| Quote: | She had a death in me, knees drawn up
and my bowl and cloth rinsed through with her.
As morning takes night, field closes the hare,
and ay would burrow into her.
Over the alter, catalpas rattle,
shadow and bother the branch.
Is this her white? Dress me.
Her rain? Wash me with that.
Her bowl? Feed me empty.
Her colding? Ay am forgot.
Then mask me the g'wen, hers skin
being mine, and body that pools
in the brine of her, rivers the silt and stone of her
wrapt in the warm of hers fell.
She were the watcher and tender of pures
when the wet grass shined with quiet
and ay lean to the mouth hole: ay, mother. |
| | Comments: 19 |
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