my whistle is just breathing out,
can't inhale lyrics
by shop's wood stove
with at least words still working on it, efficiency
I pull up my shawl
by both hands
to be warm walking away,
not coughing acceleration,
but I'm ice cold crying
with feeling of bringing baby to shoulder
as from swoon of nursing on off shoulder gathering
soon stitch a titch
but I don't get a second skin... only miscarriage
kissing my face if I have essence
flashing for a grown understanding
Author notes
good luck isn't direct; Isaiah 65:11
may comment not be oblivious
I don't want unnatural emoticons NOR the applause, please.
A contest entry
- A Weekend Contest - 15 lines or less by tara wilson.
900 points, ended March 3, 2008, 14 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
to chores of cutting heavy squash tediously as pulling from ground relayed
Comments
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"but I'm ice cold crying
with feeling of bringing baby to shoulder
as from swoon of nursing on off shoulder gathering
soon stitch a titch"
I know this feeling..of wanting to nurse your child...this is a sad poem....the ending almost seems like an acceptance of that you will grow to understand why one day...beautiful, thanks for your entry...
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I could've felt respected without the applauses...
ardentMarch thanks for compressing my eyes over this with sympathy
now it can be short as I miss, strung out ha-ha. not sarcastically or crassly but silly like funny bone hit a nerve. I appreciate your peachiness with the piece.
yes, positively,
babies are my subject
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