Still dressed in your amniotic fluid, you are too beautiful
to crack open, the spine of an unread book.
curled as a bud and tensely coiled
you hold your stolen life against the world
which dips with your presence, as though all existence
cleaved, somehow, to you.
You have not yet left your home and hidden,
shouting
your location, you have not fallen or been taken
you have not been a disappointment, yet.
it is the springtime of your life, and duly
your skin flowers with embarassment
as you begin to comprehend
your nakedness.
A contest entry
- Winklings # 175 for Winklers and AP friends. by Ronald Wiseman.
1750 points, ended April 28, 2009, 9 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
-
I enjoyed this poem
until the final verse where I became puzzled at your address in the second person to the babe: the "you" of your poem.
Are you jumping from the bud in the womb to the "springtime" as puberty and awareness of sexuality to be ashamed of one's nakedness?
I know you know but I do not. Perhaps it's my problem; perhaps it's the poem's communicative style (?)
Poet-friend, thank you for entering this work and forgive me if I am a little slow on the uptake.
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