She Sleeps

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

Just In Case

I set the bush on fire
and watched it burn
right down to dirt,
but not a word

was spoken.

I watched the clouds suck smoke
and choke,
turn black and spit back
wind,
but not a drop

of rain ever fell.

Still,
I keep collecting boards and nails
and wearing walking shoes
just in case.

Dead Letters

I planted acorns
on Houdini's grave, and a
tree escaped the ground.

Branches unfurling.
Leaves greening, golding, falling,
filling the air like

the ashes did the
day the Dead Letter Office
caught fire and burned down.

Did you see the smoke?
Or, was it one more note from
me you didn't read?

Warrior-Woman

Every morning I start my day
wishing I could find a better way.
Then I dream my time away and stay up all night.
And when I watch the sun through the falling rain,
I feel the time has come for me to make a change.
Gotta get myself arranged, Lord knows I try.

And, my conscience cuts me like a knife.
Hear me cry spare me my life.
Peace it seems to come so slow.
I'm at war with me wherever I go.

I try so hard to understand,
but I'm up to my neck in shifting sands.
If I can't meet my demands, I guess the fault is mine.
Moving backward if I move at all.
I try to run; I've been taught to crawl.
I bare my back for the whip to fall; it proves I'm alive.

And, my conscience cuts me like a knife.
Hear me cry spare me my life.
Peace it seems to come so slow.
I'm at war with me wherever I go.

It takes too little to make me bleed,
too much to stop my pain.
It's funny even the simple things get complicated just the same.
I get real pleased with myself sometimes.
It lasts for a day or two.
But in the end I'm never good enough
no matter what I do.

And, my conscience cuts me like a knife.
Hear me cry spare me my life.
Peace it seems to come so slow.
I'm at war with me wherever I go.

This is an old piece that I reworked a bit for the "Name" prompt at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.  My first name is Irish in origin and means "warrior" or "warrior-woman."


If you're interested, here's a snippet of what the original sounded like.

Scarlet Woman

Must I always play the devil in our dime store dramas?
The wicked vamp,
the wayward wench,
the wolf slavering and slobbering after innocence
through dark thickets
and yellow lit min-marts
long after decent people are asleep in bed?

Truly, I have no taste for tender hearts.

But, I do look damn good in scarlet.

Fiction in 55 for my G-Man!