This inbound river.
Sometimes what's required
is not a human,
but a creature comfort,
and I haven't a clue
what all this means.
Except during the drive
to my sister's funeral,
my silent mother's body's mind,
got out of it's paddock
like a panicked sheep,
or that man's penis.
And she witnessed her womb
rise, roll over white, and retreat,
as ceaseless
as the ocean coughs up a corpse,
while it gave to her daughter's angel it's birth.
No comments:
Post a Comment