Brittle bones.
Shallow breaths.
The crone sleeps
and starts to dreaming
of a fertile womb
and pliant skin
and nimble hands,
her time of bleeding.
Slick with sweat.
Breathing fast.
I'm jerked awake
by my own screaming.
In a ragged tomb
of wrinkled skin
and a strange heart's
fragile beating.
For Open Link Monday at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads
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Monday, October 10, 2011
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About Me
- Maude Lynn
- Anybody who has survived his childhood has enough information about life to last him the rest of his days. ---Flannery O'Connor
15 comments:
Oh wow! I would love to know how you came to write this. It's jolting, in a good way.
Ooh, this one cuts close to the bone. Well done, MZ.
Kay, Alberta, Canada
An Unfittie’s Guide to Adventurous Travel
Ah, damnit! It does indeed cut close to the bone! Whatever inspired it is SO right on, MZ! Have a lovely evening!
Sylvia
So, you've been by my place in the morning?
(Seriously, good stuff.)
This is excellent. :-)
Spine tingling good!
Winter is coming to settle in our bones, so enjoy the autumn while it lasts.
wow! age just kinda creeps in and slaps across the face one morning, huh?
Wicked write. Love it. Every stanza is amazing, love the first and third the most, as they really set things going for each half of the poem. Great job, thanks
We carry all of our youth, and all of our old-age with us in any given moment - your poem made me realize just how scary that is.
yikes!
Funny... I just read Yeats' "The Pensioner's Song" (not sure if that's the correct title) which is on the topic of being "transfigured by time".
I felt myself "jerked awake" with the crone, face-to-face with eternity. Brilliant write with exquisite depth. I love the language you used to describe the crone's dream impressions.
Quite eye-opening...Such realism, it happens to the best of us!
Intense! Love it.
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