tonight, my arms
are weaklings: taught
trembles by the days they’ve walked,
sagging, under the weight
of empty rucksacks
& the memory
of torches. there are libraries
who still know my name,
shelves eaten dry, a vampire
with papercut fingers
from centuries of trawling
blindly. there are wounds
behind my eyelids, places words
will not go. it is too dark for them.
Author notes
me, not her; inadvertantly invoked, perhaps.
A contest entry
- with a rush by Melissa Gayle.
900 points, ended October 28, 2008, 15 entries
Honorable mention
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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'there are libraries
who still know my name,
shelves eaten dry, a vampire
with papercut fingers
from centuries of trawling
blindly.'
That was absolutely, by far my favorite part. Just excellent.
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Thank you, and thanks for the HM ~ your contests are always highly inspiring! ^_^
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