Winds, hands, howls break this city and beat it. The overflow of time reddens, fortifies our grief and fixes battle gear to the underside of knuckles palm lines spiraling inward towards numb clutch — on the fester of speculation on the wheels of judgment Even to leave our houses and desert ourselves, embrace a familiar faceContinue reading “Containment”
Tag Archives: poem
24 Hours
On Venus, a day equates to one hundred sixteen and three quarters of our own sunrise to sunrise, where a world is conceived: at the threshold your hand moves forward to pull up the blinds, the dust motes hang without intention of settling — an orchid waits expectant for the light but your hand isContinue reading “24 Hours”
A mother recovers
To heal, to make whole. Thus, the blank space between sounds. Thus, a rift in tectonic plates. The hands which beckon or beg or beat, discovering a source of light. A bone knows which way to grow, underneath all those sinews. As in a call to prayer, an invitation to come in from the world.Continue reading “A mother recovers”
mabel lee 