Sunday, 17 April 2011


Prompt: portrait-poem. (I love you, T).

she is a woman
with a sleeping piano
and sprites in her fingers

i would like nothing more
than to watch the urgent runs
the soft disappearance in twos
and the abrupt plunge

she will cross
her hands
her legs
and she will wink

it is different now
there are times every bit of woman
was clenched into a fist and torn
from her womb
times when she tried to find pieces
of herself in the blanks she
struck into the keys

when the questions were thunderous
and the piano was a black hole
and the goddesses shook

but not today
she is very much in one piece
and on some days it looks like
she is disappearing, it
sounds much less like
wondrous crawling forests
where demons curl around trees
and more like chords

as if there are prices to pay
for being alright.

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