By this time what she holds is the entire
world, floating not in space but in the slosh
of her, uterine ocean a gyre
that squeezes galaxies into a blood-washed
ball–not all ball–squiggle limbs, globe head–
hers not working well–she remembers
a friend whose wool tights had ballooned, she’s said–
she thought she’d peed (weeping)–as husband tendered
her seeping bulk–that woman–into the car.
She’s still dry as sweat, lights flickering, or lids,
thin as cotton swabbed over belly’s shore-
‘I love you, I love you, I love you–’ bids
she offers now–all she might ever be–
as she waits on the breaking of that wine dark sea.
When I am not sure what to write, I tend to go for a sonnet. The form forces decisions, and hopefully, makes a bit of its own music..
This is a new one, still a draft of sorts, that I wrote for my poetics prompt on dVerse Poets Pub about a body or bodies of water.
A few side notes – my computer has overheated so it is possible I will be visiting people through a mobile device that sometimes uses the moniker “outlawyer.”
Secondly, I recently passed my fourth anniversary here at Manicddaily. I have really enjoyed blogging and I know I will continue with it, but life has gotten very stressful of late, and I may need to cut down. (I always say this, and I never do, but I am concerned that the wear and tear shows in the quality of the poems I post.)
Do check in as I’m sure I will be still posting, maybe even tomorrow–there are all these great prompts out there, including one by my friend Hedgewitch on WithRealToads. But after that, I really do intend to slow down a bit.
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