Warm greasy water runs
through my fingertips.
She stands, belly swollen
from recent delivery, supported
by the refrigerator seeping blood
and water. I watch the man
kneel in its brown sludge
as her shoulders sag
and black circles coagulate beneath her eyes.
His fingers work the torn fabric,
stretching the soaked cloth
in a futile effort to contain the mess.
Before me the sink
is a junkyard of dirty dishes.
I wipe the trickle of water
on the window curtain where
a glimmer of light chokes through.
LL/3/7/2009. Prevail.
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one of my favorites. thanks for sharing.
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Poetry--the best place to start. Light is not without it's dangers, but it is indeed better than darkness.
ReplyDeleteStand a little taller, step a little closer...whoa, careful, not that close. Circling, always circling, a power greater than ourselves. Thank goodness for love.
The IMAGES!! Wow, write more. I couldn't not be fully present in the poem. I feel like I still have a residue of the greasy water on me. If a word could take a snap shot you've done it.
ReplyDeleteWow. Just. . .wow!
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