From the womb of the hill
I slip down the road,
blind at corners,
drowning without
stereoscopic eyes
or forceps.
Mother waits in the light,
all dripping
salty sweat
upon the rocks,
and sighing
as she crashes.
Exhaustion,
like the gown
of flat sand
crumpled and creased
by the power
of her movements;
pooled with still
tranquillity
after birth
– too still for
me and my beating heart
to know.
No comments:
Post a Comment