Saturday, March 7, 2009

The Way of the Moth

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.


  1. one of my favorites. thanks for sharing.

  2. Poetry--the best place to start. Light is not without it's dangers, but it is indeed better than darkness.

    Stand a little taller, step a little closer...whoa, careful, not that close. Circling, always circling, a power greater than ourselves. Thank goodness for love.

  3. 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.